When Masks Fall Off
by Ai Tennshi
Summary: What if Nadja's slap had knocked off Keith's mask that fateful day in Venice?
1. A Foggy Night in Venice

_Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the creators of Ashita no Nadja._

**When Masks Fall Off**

**Chapter 1.19: A Foggy Night in Venice**

"Wait!" Nadja called after the Black Rose. "Please, wait!"  

It was when he had bounded up the staircase and was half way across a bridge while Nadja was still just reaching the bottom of the staircase without the energy to run very much further, let alone bound up the staircase, that the girl finally stopped. But at the very least, there was one thing that she wanted him to hear: "Thank you for what you did for Mario."

The Black Rose stopped in his tracks. He didn't even turn to look at her, but nor did he move to continue running away. Nadja took the opportunity to resume closing in on him, though this time she did so at a normal, walking pace, and continued to speak to him desperately as she did so.  

"But do you have to go about it this way? If you this up, you'll be hurt someday!"  

"I can't save the people by fearing pain." The Black Rose still did not turn to her, and Nadja stopped approaching him when she reached the top of the bridge as well.  

"But there must be another way! For example, I know a noble who collects donations and gives those to hospitals and orphanages, and saves all sorts of people!"  

"That's nothing but a noble's hobby—it's all hipocrisy." The Black Rose spoke with a sort of condescending amusement.  

"He does his best as a person, not as a noble, so that everyone can live on equal terms!"  

"That's nothing but empty words."  

"No!" Nadja insisted, her voice strong and firm. "It's noblesse oblige!" And the Black Rose spun around to face her, his cape billowing out, and his eyes wide with shock behind his mask. There was a moment of silence, and Nadja began to wonder if she had won—she knew that he was affected by her words, but his mask hid from her the extent of his surprise, and she did not think to wonder.  

"The wealthy obtain their riches by stealing them from the poor," said the Black Rose. His voice was hard and cooly heated with suppressed anger as he closed the distance between himself and Nadja with long, brisque strides.

"I'm just returning them to their rightful owners. This is my way."  

"Some nobles and wealthy people are good people." The Black Rose's wide eyes stared into Nadja's determined ones from behind his mask. After another moment of silence, however, he closed them.  

"People can hide their true nature behind masks," said the Black Rose softly, the anger and hardness gone from his voice. Then bitterness began to creep into his voice, replacing the anger as he spat out his words. "The noble you know is just like the rest of them! Under his mask, he's laughing down at the commoners from his high and mighty perch above them!"  

"Not Francis!" And Nadja's words had the Black Rose's eyes shooting wide open behind the mask once again. "Francis.... Francis is a genuinely honest, kind, wonderful person!"  

The Black Rose stared down at the girl who stood before him. After a moment, he reached out and took her hand from where it had rested on the railing of the bridge. He pulled her right up to him.  

"Aren't you afraid of me?" he asked in a voice that would have left a bystander wondering whether he was mocking the girl, or simply honestly curious. His wide eyes beneath the mask would have solved the mystery as Nadja replied with a defiant, "I'm not afraid."  

Nadja's hard eyes stared into the Black Rose's wide ones for a moment before his mouth twitched. Nadja noticed the change in his demeanor a second before he stood up straight to tower over her, swinging a hand back in a billow of his cape. Nadja shut her eyes tightly with a flinch, just _knowing_ that he was about to hit her. Her fear only intensified when she felt his hand catch her chin and pull her face slightly up and forward. She awaited the blow—

—and his lips touched hers.

Nadja's eyes flew open, and before she knew what she was doing, she had slapped him. She started as her hand met his cheek and recoiled in shock at her own actions, realizing that he would now strike her for sure. She looked up at him fearfully.  And she saw an unmasked Black Rose—she saw Francis.  

"Francis?" Nadja squeaked. But that hadn't felt like Francis's kiss! Francis's kiss had been gentle; pleasant. This kiss...it had been brief, but there had been something in it that had seemed... Well, something had been different about it—but then again, she had been too busy being surprised, so that could have been the difference.  

The Francis-clone straightened again, a rueful smile forming on his face. "No, I'm not Francis." Indeed, there was a certain sparkle—no, it was a glint, an _evil_ glint, Nadja insisted to herself—that was distinctly un-Francis-like in those otherwise familiar blue eyes.  

"Then who are you?" Nadja was horrified to find that her voice was a terrified whisper. That just would _not_ do. She cleared her throat and tried again, this time pushing a world of outrage into her voice. "Who _are_ you?"  

The Black Rose grinned down at her, and a sparkle entered his eyes that made her heart skip a beat—something that she suppressed in less than a second with outrage at his apparent amusement in the face of her anger. Something about that sparkle in his eyes told her that he knew full well what was going through her head at that very moment, and the whole concept that he knew her that well—better than anyone in Troupe Dandelion or even _Francis_—infuriated her to no end. She had met him, what, twice before?

"How _dare_ you presume to know me!" Nadja snapped. "We've only met twice and you-"

"Four times."

"-_obviously_ seem to be under the impression that you could _possibly_- What?"

"This is the fourth occasion on which we have met, Nadja Applefield."

"And you know my _name_? How can you possibly know my _name_? And I don't remember meeting you four times! There was London, Paris, and now this. Have you been following me? You must be following me. Go away! I can't believe-"

"Applefield."

"-that you're- Yes, I know that's my name, thank you very- Wait, you were at Applefield? Liar; I don't remember you!"

"You don't? Shame. I wasn't aware that you were saved from evil men trying to steal your precious brooch so often that you can't even remember all the young men who've rushed to your rescue." The amused sparkle was still in his eyes, and Nadja was beginning to wish that Whoever-He-Was would just put it back on. Something about that mocking sparkle almost seemed..._endearing_, and she wasn't sure she could handle that. But then again, her brain seemed to have decided that it didn't particularly feel like functioning right then.

"What are you talking about? That only happened a few times. Wait, did you say at Applefield? But that only happened once. You didn't save me."

"Oh?" The sparkle vanished from his eyes into something more serious, and Nadja suddenly found herself able to tear her eyes away from his. Her eyes darted left and right, trying to find something to look at that wouldn't hypnotize her like his eyes. "And who did?"

"Who did what?" She finally decided to watch the water of the river. It was fascinating, really. It reflected the moon so wonderfully, and never stopped swaying.... Ah yes, this was more like it.

"Really, Nadja, do try to pay attention." A gloved hand caught her by the chin a second time, and her eyes automatically shot toward their owner. She didn't have the presence of mind to slap him away for fear of a repeat of what had happened earlier. In fact, she was feeling rather light-headed.

"No..." she protested weakly, scarcely aware of what she was protesting against.

"No what?" The Black Rose's voice was gentle.

"It couldn't have been you. It was Francis." Ah yes. They were talking about who had saved her at Applefield. Lucky for her that her mouth remembered when her brain didn't.

"Did he ever say so?"

"N- no, but..."

"But you would have preferred it to be him?" The mocking tone was back in his voice, and he released her. "Yes, of course you would. You know him as a person—as a friend, and as a lover I presume. You only know me as the thief that mocks you every time our paths cross. Why wouldn't you prefer him?"

"Well, you can't be much of a better person than the one that I know you as, can you? At least _Francis_ never would have forced himself on me!"

"Really, let's not exaggerate now. It was just a kiss."

"Just? _Just_!" Nadja's voice had risen about an octave. "You- you make fun of me, you steal, you _kiss_ me, you steal Francis's face-"

"Alright, you need to calm down now. All the other accusations I won't deny and we can discuss them over tea tomorrow, but once you start accusing me of stealing your precious boyfriend's face, things have gone a little too far for my taste." 

"Why?" Nadja didn't think she'd ever heard her voice sound so..._merciless_. "Because you can't stand the truth? What, did you just do this to spook me? Take off that mask!"

His hands reached out, and Nadja flinched back but they caught her by the shoulders anyway. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knew the truth—but she didn't want to hear it. It couldn't be true. This was the Black Rose, a thief without morals or conscience—he was _evil_. Pure _evil_. He didn't have normal human emotions, and he didn't save her because that had been Francis, even if Francis hadn't remembered the incident when she'd mentioned it, and she loved _Francis_, and nothing could change that-

"Nadja." Those eyes—oh, how she _hated_ those captivating blue eyes that held a luster even when they were perfectly serious—were fixing her with a penetrating stare, and she stopped struggling for a moment. "This is my face. There was no stealing of any sort involved. And before you move on to the copying theory, I was born first, so if you must insist that there was any face-copying involved, you have my wholehearted permission to take it up with Francis."

That pretty much killed all hope that she had had left. Nadja halfheartedly reached up to feel the offending face, but knew that he was telling the truth even before her fingers met no seams that a mask would have left along the edges of his face.

It was merely spite that led her to scratch his cheek without warning. To his credit, the Black Rose didn't even flinch, though she saw a corner of his lips twitch in either amusement or annoyance. But all that scratching yielded were four red marks along his cheek, and one redder than the others as it began to bleed.

Nadja's legs finally decided that they'd had enough of supporting her for the day, and decided to give out just then. But the Black Rose, who seemed to be all-knowing, foresaw the event before it occurred, and a moment after she felt her legs give out she found herself embraced by a warm pair of arms that held her against a warmer body.

"Let me down," she murmured halfheartedly through her not-too-conscious mind, but the Black Rose, of course, did not comply.

"You're half a step away from fainting with shock," he said. For the first time, with the haze in her mind blocking all her betrayal and ire, she realized that he was actually quite gentle.

"What's your name?" Nadja asked sleepily. After she heard her own voice asking the question, some faraway, sane part of her mind noticed that, _Oh yeah, I don't even know his name._

"Keith," replied the young man.

"Twins," Nadja whispered, a tear slipping out of the corner of her eye, and a second later, she was fast asleep. When she would awake a few hours later, she would be with the Troupe and the Black Rose nowhere to be seen. She would spend hours convincing herself that she had dreamed everything, determinedly forcing life to go on as if nothing had ever happened.


	2. An Unstable Sort of Truce

**When Masks Fall Off**

**Chapter 2.26: An Unstable Sort of Truce**

Nadja tried to keep smiling as she marched determinedly down the deserted, hot streets of Granada, but it would have looked strained even to someone who had never seen the girl before. Arvell's mention of the Black Rose had ruined her day, and there was nothing to do about it.

Which was why Nadja nearly missed it when two pick-pockets stole her brooch. Fortunately, her brooch was important enough that its absence caught her attention mere moments after it was stolen.

When she saw the thieves being felled ahead of her by a strangely familiar shadow, however, and her heart leapt—that was when she knew that her day was ruined for good. She walked hesitantly around the corner, and indeed, there he stood with her brooch in hand.

"Francis," Nadja smiled, because there was no way that she was going to let her mood be killed on such a beautiful day. The black-clad Francis clone looked sharply at her. They stared each other down for a few moments, and Nadja knew that he knew that she knew _exactly_ who he was—and that at that particular moment, she would rather _die_ than admit it.

"Didn't I tell you before not to let go of this?" said the young man quietly, and moved to refasten the brooch for her.

"Th- thank you, Francis," Nadja stammered, quickly snatching the brooch away to fasten it herself. "I- I was just a little distracted."

"Francis" looked at her with a very un-Francis-like cocked eyebrow, and Nadja got the feeling that he was wondering if it had been a certain mysterious thief that had had her attention. She averted her eyes more out of fear that that eyebrow would shatter her wonderful illusion than anything else.

"Would you like to take a walk?" asked Francis, and Nadja wondered if she had been wrong. Maybe this really _was_ Francis—after all, would the Black Rose have passed up the opportunity to tease her? Yes, she had to have been mistaken earlier.

"Sure," Nadja smiled, and it was less forced than any smile that had adorned her face that day—after all, she was with _Francis_! Her smile widened into a genuine smile. "You know, just the other day, I found the most _beautiful_ flower..."

Fifteen minutes later, Nadja was on a well-fueled ramble.  "Do you like the siesta? I don't like the siesta. I think it's a waste to take a nap when the weather's so good, and I don't understand why people would even want to take a nap in the first place. Do you?"

"No," Francis replied. He wasn't saying very much, but maybe that was just because she was talking too much. Maybe she ought to stop soon.

"At the orphanage, there were more children younger than me, so it was my responsibility to comfort crying and upset children, so I actually never really took naps. But the nights were amazing! We girls would cuddle up and sleep together! But actually, I'm a pretty untidy sleeper. I frequently wake up to find myself upside down. Are you a tidy sleeper?"

"Relatively," replied Francis.  "Which do you like more, sunny or rainy days?"

"Sunny," he replied, and Nadja thought that was odd for a thief who operated in the dead of night. But no, she remembered, this wasn't the Black Rose. Why was she acting as though it was—as though she wanted it to be?  No, she had to stop thinking.

"Me too!" she squealed happily, directing all her concentration as far as it would get from her brain, and shoving all that concentration into moving her mouth as fast as it would go so she could think about nothing but talking and talking without stuttering. "I love sunny days. It feels so good to wake up and find the sun out all shining and warm and beautiful, doesn't it?"

"It does." Why was she asking his opinion anyway?

"But cloudy and rainy days are wonderful too. Everyday is wonderful! I love the way the clouds float smoothly through the sky! I love the rainbows that show up after the rain! I love those lightly falling raindrops that just hit the leaves during a drizzle and make them sparkle! What's your favorite season?" Curse it, she was asking his opinion again.

"Summer."

"I love summer too!" See? This couldn't be the Black Rose. They had way too much in common. And what sort of thief liked summer? They were supposed to like rainy days and dark days and nights and winters and everything that wasn't bright and sunny and happy! "The flowers bloom so beautifully in the summer. But I love winter too. I love every season! I love how the snow crunches beneath my feet. And how scenes in the distance start to fade and then vanish completely into the fog! How about-"

He was looking at her. _Looking_ at her. With narrowed eyes, _pleading_ eyes, as though he were asking her without saying a thing to stop hurting them both. But she _wasn't_ hurting anyone, because he was Francis and she would never hurt Francis! Never! Francis must be trying to communicate something else.

Oh! It was probably about all the talking. Now that she thought about it, she'd been talking a mile a minute, hadn't she? Oh dear, how annoying she must be! Francis would never speak with her again!

"I'm sorry, I'm annoying you, aren't I?"

"By talking? Not at all." Damn him for sounding so sincere.

"I am, I know I am."

"What makes you think so? I think that being talkative is much better than the ladies that sit around in stiff silence." A silence, and Nadja nodded to herself. See? He was talking about nobility. It had to be Francis. "My mother always dreamed of seeing the world outside, but in the end, she died without ever taking a single step out. You're not like that, are you?"

That wasn't what Francis had told her before! "That's not what-"

"Francis told you? Of course it isn't."

Nadja leveled a glare at him. "Francis" looked back at her calmly. "You'll have to face it eventually, Nadja."

"Face what?" said Nadja, and she could almost see "Francis's" heart twisting and wished she could damn him for pretending to have human emotions. "Oh, I'm sorry, have I been acting strange? I just had a nightmare a few weeks ago, and it's still haunting me."

Francis looked at her speculatively for a moment before he took her by the hand. Nadja nearly flinched away before she reminded herself that this was Francis—_Francis_—and she had no reason whatsoever to run away.

"Would you like to talk about-"

"No!" There was a brief silence in which Nadja wondered if she should be worried that she didn't regret snapping at Francis.

"You know," said Francis, and the gentleness in his voice reassured her somewhat, "There's a beautiful courtyard this way."

Courtyard? Nadja almost asked, but then she looked around—they were in the ruins of a beautiful palace. Nadja's jaw dropped in awe. It was so _beautiful_ and she'd been to busy being preoccupied by nothing to even notice its existence?  

The courtyard, true to Keith's word (no! It was Francis's word, _Francis's_—wherever had she gotten the name 'Keith' from?), was exquisitely beautiful.  "Francis, it's _beautiful,_" Nadja gasped, turning to look at him. "Franc-"  

And then his fingers wove through the hair at the nape of her neck, and with a gentle tug familiar lips were covering hers and—maybe it was the stress—everything else in her mind evaporated. She _knew_ these lips, and they were so wonderful—this _man_ was wonderful—and she couldn't do a thing but wrap her arms about his neck and pull him closer.

She'd never been kissed like that before—she'd never known it was _possible_ to kiss like that—and she simply thought she would die if he stopped. There was no one else in the world, nothing that mattered more than her and Keith being togeth-

_Keith._  

Nadja shoved him away. "How _dare_ you!"  

Much to her displeasure, Keith's—the Black Rose's—composure was entirely unruffled. But his hair looked like a crow had just tried to nest in it, and she realized with mortification that _that_ was what her fingers had been doing so delightedly.

"How dare I what?" asked the Black Rose, his voice as light as his expression. "Kiss a perfectly consenting, willing individual?"  

"How dare you kiss me! Again! When you don't even mean it! And you're just mocking me! And I don't even know why I kissed you back, but I know that you're going to hold it above my head and taunt me to within an inch of my-"  

When he cupped her face and kissed her again, she was too busy debating what to do to actually get around to doing anything. He had kissed her twice before: once she had slapped him and once she had responded. What was she supposed to do now?  

But he pulled away before she had the chance to actually get around to _doing_ anything, and looked down at her with serious eyes. Nadja wished they were mocking her—at least then she could just hate him and not bother with the fact that she _liked_ him kissing her, because it would have been just plain wrong if he were evil.  

But he wasn't. He was _nice_. He was _human_. He had—horror of horrors—a reason that could actually have a point behind his stealing. He was a better kisser than Francis was, by far. And damn her to hell and back, but she actually thought she might like him more today than she'd ever liked Francis.  

"I- I have to go," Nadja whispered, and turned to begin running away before the Black Rose—Keith—saw that she was on the verge of tears.  

"Nadja," he said, and his voice sounded as choked as hers would have sounded if she'd tried to say anything more just then, and she cursed him for choosing then to show emotion of all times, because tears were already leaking out of her eyes and that was the last straw. A choked sob escaped her lips even as she tried to hold it in, and anyone else might have mistaken it for a cough, but Keith knew her better than that.  

"Nadja," he whispered again, and she found herself in his arms. "I'm sorry. I know I'm confusing you. I know I'm hurting you, and I'm so sorry. I just- I was being selfish. I'm sorry."  

Yes, he had been. And Nadja could have hated him for it if he hadn't chosen to apologize for it or choose then of all times to be selfless. She fisted her hands in his jacket, buried her face in his chest, and muffled a sob.  

He was warm. She could feel his heartbeat. He was real, and he had been all along.  

"Why did you have to look alike?" she murmured into his chest, more to herself than to him.  

"I've been asking myself the same question for weeks," Keith whispered back, and she felt a wet droplet on her hair and the truth struck her.

Keith had admitted to spending the day being selfish, and hurting her in doing so. Nadja had known that full well. But now she realized that she'd been doing the exact same thing. Refusing to acknowledge that he could be anyone but his brother, knowing the truth yet insisting on pretending that she didn't just because it spared her some pain... Keith had been hurting her, but she had been no better.  

"I'm sorry," she whispered brokenly. "I was so busy being angry that you were hurting me—I didn't notice that I was...I..."  

Keith's hands left her shoulders and for a moment she thought he would push her away. But then a hand wrapped around her back to pull her into a simple embrace, and his other hand stroked her hair soothingly. "We're both sorry. It's all right now."  

"No it isn't," said Nadja, pulling away and laughing through her tears despite herself. "Francis still doesn't know anything. We'll be going through this again when Francis finds out."  

Keith scowled: not a good look with tear stains on his cheek, Nadja noted with dim amusement. "Ah yes. And he will _not_ be hugging you or kissing you."  

Nadja scowled up at him. "He has more right to hug and kiss me than you do."  

"Really? I knew you first."  

"I didn't know that."  

"You do now, and that makes all the difference."  

"So? Just because you insist on forcing yourself on me every time we meet-"  

"I thought we'd been over the exaggeration issue."  

"I'm not exaggerating."  

"Really? Because I don't remember doing anything more than kissing a consenting individual."

"Not the first time you didn't!"

"I'll keep in mind that you yourself just acknowledged that you weren't opposed to two of the three kisses we've shared. And that first one was entirely your fault. As was the second, though I'll claim responsibility for the third."  

"What? I had nothing to do with those two!"  

"You mentioned Francis."  

"Then go kiss _him_." Keith took the wise way out and chose to ignore this twisted logic.  

"You refused to acknowledge me in the face of Francis, like he's some god and I pale to insignificance beside him. Not that it matters. It's the pauper thief or the prince. Any right-minded girl would choose him. Good-bye, Nadja."

Something twisted in Nadja as she watched him retreat silently. But she couldn't deny what he'd said. Any right-minded girl would choose Francis over Keith. After all, what did Keith have to offer? So what if she felt something akin to a spark every time she and Keith touched? She could keep her head on straight around Francis. Francis didn't drive her up the wall and across the ceiling. She and Francis had never fought, while she and Keith had fought every time they'd met—except that first time. Keith did nothing but steal from the rich and give to the poor, while Francis had the decency to collect donations. She and Francis had almost everything in common, while it surprised her every time she found that she and Keith had something in common (though it wasn't quite as uncommon an occurrence as she would have liked, Nadja had to admit).

Really, why _would_ she choose Keith?  

She stomped determinedly in the other direction.  

"Nadja?" She stopped, closing her eyes tightly. Did he _have_ to come back? She'd been _fine_ parting with him on bad terms. Maybe whatever weird connection they had would have disappeared and they never would have seen each other again.

"For you. Have a nice life with Francis." He dropped a tomato into her hand and left again. Nadja stared after him. If the tomato was supposed to be some sort of peace offering, Keith had failed miserably because she was feeling even more frustrated than before.

Sighing, Nadja plopped down on a nearby bench to munch desolately on the tomato.

It was delicious, she noted with displeasure.


	3. And Then It Hit the Fan

**When Masks Fall Off**  **Chapter 3.30: And Then It Hit the Fan**

It was Francis. Not the Francis-clone, but _Francis_. The _real_ Francis. The one who had been named Francis at birth. The one who had actually had the decency to _introduce_ himself as Francis when they had first met. The one whom she and..._the other Francis_ agreed was the one that any right-minded girl would choose. The one who Nadja, being a right-minded girl, was in love with.

And yet she caught herself wishing, though just for a split second, that it had been Keith. Whether it had happened willingly or not, she had no secrets from Keith. With Francis...she felt as though she had promised herself to him and then promptly run off with the first man to cross her path.

But it wasn't her fault, Nadja reminded herself firmly. "Sorry, some urgent business just came up. Go on without me!" And she leapt off the car and ignored the questions that her makeshift family that was Troupe Dandelion shouted at her back.

Yet in the end, the dramatic moment of truth wasn't all that dramatic—primarily because Nadja couldn't bring herself to initiate the conversation that would inevitably lead to the moment of truth, and so she ended up following Francis in the shadows like some sort of stalker. It was only when a carriage nearly ran her over and the passenger in the carriage turned out to be someone that Francis was apparently expecting that Nadja finally stepped forward. As Francis smiled at "Maryann" and helped her out of the carriage, Nadja stepped out of the shadows with a slightly annoyed smile and a cheerful, "Francis!"

"Nadja," smiled Francis, and he seemed so sincere. No guilt! Honestly, who did he think he was? He kisses her, and then just goes and guilelessly walks off to date some other girl? _No,_ whispered her subconscious, _That's you, remember?_ Nadja forced the thought from her mind, keeping a smile on her face, slightly forced though it may have been.

"Why, Francis," asked the young lady beside him, looping an arm through his in a way that would have seemed like casual familiarity if she hadn't been looking piercingly and winningly into Nadja's eyes. "Who is this _charming_ young lady?"

"This is Nadja, the girl I was telling you about," said Francis, smiling at the lady beside him with familiarity. Nadja was really starting to feel like third wheel, and she didn't like it at all—didn't Francis notice _any_ of the insults that _Maryann_ was throwing her way? "Nadja, this is my childhood friend, Maryann."

"Ah, a friend?" smiled Nadja at Maryann. "_So_ nice to meet you." Maryann didn't miss the insult. Her eyes narrowed as Francis offered his other arm to Nadja, offering to take her to lunch with the two of them.

"Oh, but you said that she's quite spirited," interjected Maryann. "Perhaps the restaurant would be too restrictive for her? Perhaps we should go on a picnic instead. We just need to order the food at the restaurant and pay for a basket to carry it in."

"That sounds wonderful, Maryann," exclaimed Francis. "You'd prefer that, Nadja, wouldn't you?" Something hot and ugly was rising in Nadja. What _was_ this? Was the man completely missing the fact that Maryann was implying that the restaurant was too good for Nadja?

But the fact of the matter was that Nadja _did_ prefer picnics, and to object now that Maryann and Francis both were at least _pretending_ to be enthusiastic would be absurd. So she smiled and said, "Of course, Francis." But when his focus was back on the road, she didn't resist a glare at Maryann. To Nadja's surprise, Maryann wasn't paying any attention—instead, her focus seemed to be on Nadja's skirt.

Nadja's brain nearly burned out as it rushed to figure out what in the _world_ Maryann was finding inadequate about her this time. Was her skirt too short? Her knees to knobby? Her legs too skinny? She looked down—

—and saw the little cylindrical bulge in her apron pocket, and knew she was done for.

On her previous encounter with K- _The Black Rose_, he had returned on the pretense of leaving her a tomato. In actuality, it had turned out that he had had an ulterior motive—one that Nadja had been too occupied to notice until she had been undressing for bed that evening, and noticed something in her apron pocket. Pulling out the offending object, Nadja had realized instantaneously that it was Keith's, and would have thrown it out the window—she really would have—if it hadn't been for the note on the paper wrapped around the beautiful gem-encrusted kaleidoscope:

_This kaleidoscope belonged to my and Francis's mother. She wanted to travel the world, you know. I haven't let go of this since her death. Now I want you to have it—take her with you; show her the world that she never got to see. Thank you, Nadja._

Irritatingly, the fact that it belonged to his and Francis's mother rendered her incapable of doing the object harm. It also rendered her incapable of letting it off of her person, for fear that it might get lost, or stolen, or any number of horrible, terrible things.

_...haven't let go of this since her death,_ Keith had said. No doubt if Maryann was Francis's _childhood friend_, then she knew Keith as well. So if Maryann had known Keith in those days, there was no doubt that she, not to mention Francis, knew _precisely_ what the kaleidoscope was and who was supposed to be in current possession of it.

"Nadja," Maryann began, a certain glint in her eyes. Nadja felt her pulse begin to race. She couldn't let this happen—not now, in front of Francis, out of Maryann's mouth. _She_ needed to be the one to explain to Francis what was going on. If Francis heard it out of the mouth of another, the betrayal would be complete, mistaken identities or not. "What is-"

"Why don't you ladies stay here?" Francis interrupted, and Nadja thought she was having a heart attack of relief. "I'm going to go get the food, and it'll probably take me ten to twenty minutes. So why don't you ladies get to know each other in the meantime? I'm sure I'm just an obstruction."

Okay, maybe her relief had been kind of quick in coming. He was going to _leave_ her with this evil, perceptive woman whom, to all appearances, was after Nadja's life?

"Of course, Francis," Nadja forced out at the same moment as Maryann said, demurely as ever, "I think that would be lovely." Francis grinned at the two of them with an, "I'll be back soon," and jogged off to the kitchen. Maryann and Nadja watched him leave until the kitchen door had closed behind him.

"So, Nadja," smiled Maryann, sitting down on the bench beside them and folding her parasol. "Why are you playing with Francis when you clearly have Keith wrapped around your little finger?"

Nadja glared hotly. She couldn't remember being this angry since...well, since the last time she'd seen Keith. "I am _not_ playing with Francis, and I do _not_ have Keith wrapped around any part of me! That...that impersonating _beast_ is going to stay far, far away from me if he knows what's best for him!"

"Ah. So he weaseled his way into your heart through your feelings for Francis, did he?"

Nadja blinked. "What?"  "He let you think he was Francis until you felt for him the same way you felt for Francis."

"No! The moment he realized there was a case of mistaken identity, he made his point in correcting me, thank you very much! What do you take him for? He's not _evil_!" _Oh dear,_ said Nadja's conscience. _There goes your main argument against the thief._

"Isn't he?" asked Maryann, demure as ever. "My apologies. Of course, you must have come to quite an understanding if he left you with a token like that one." Nadja's hand closed protectively over her apron pocket. "You know, when we were little children, I used to beg Keith to let me just see it, but he'd never even let me touch it."

"Wha- No! He just kind of...slipped it into my pocket! We were arguing! He pretended to give me a tomato as some sort of peace offering, and slipped the...the kaleidoscope into my pocket!"

"My, my. Quite the peace offering, isn't it? A priceless kaleidoscope, the only thing he had left of his mother, and he gives it to a simple country girl as a peace offering for a common argument."

"Are you implying that I'm lying?"

"Of course not. Just that your story _does_ take quite a turn into the realms of fairy tales. As far as I understand, either he loves you quite deeply, or you took it from him."

Nadja almost laughed, but she was too busy being angry. "I did _not_ take it from him! I mean, how could I steal from a-" She stopped at the last moment. No matter how much she disliked Keith, revealing the truth could get him caught and killed, and much as she hated him, she definitely would never wish death on anyone. "How could I steal from a horrible person like him?" Nadja corrected herself lamely. "I- I mean, why would I want anything of his?"

"I would think that even a common girl like yourself could see the monetary value in such a gorgeous object."

"The monetary- What are you _implying_?"

"That you could potentially be either playing both men, or you could be a gold-digger, after Francis's money but not above stealing from Keith when the opportunity presents itself. Or, of course, you could be both, or neither. I don't know you, you see, and so I have very little to work with." Maryann was just sitting there, all poised and proper, a demure smile on her face.  Nadja's temper was now a full boil, and she was practically shouting. "I am neither of those things! How dare you suggest-"

"Nadja! Maryann, what's going on?" Francis had returned. _And he turns to Maryann?_ To say that Nadja was feeling quite bitter would have been an understatement.

"You see,"-but anything was better than Maryann telling Francis her twisted theories, wasn't it?-"we were talking about this and that"-and besides, hadn't this all started because Nadja wanted to be the one to tell Francis what was going on?-"when I noticed-"

"She realized that I had something I shouldn't have, and pointed out that it was very, very wrong that I should be in possession of it." Nadja felt like a leaf in the wind, and Francis looked baffled.

"Nadja, what-" A rock came flying out of nowhere, and struck Francis in the temple.

"Francis!" both Nadja and Maryann cried out in horror, rushing to his side.

"I'm fine," Francis mumbled waving them off. "What-"

"Francis Harcourt!" shouted a young boy's voice. They looked around to see two little boys standing up on a wall, glaring down at them—or rather, at Francis.

"Who are-"

"Mour, from Pegasus Orphanage!" snapped the little boy standing in the front; the one who had thrown the stone. "Don't tell me you've forgotten!"

"Go home!" snapped the smaller boy behind the first. "Get off this island!"

"Your donation messed up our orphanage!" snapped the first boy.

"Messed up?" Nadja was going to ask, but Maryann beat her to it with a, "Would you care to explain?"

"Before your donation, we may have been poor, but we were happy! But then your donation came along, and changed the headmaster of our orphanage! He made off alone with the money, the orphanage was closed up, and now we're the only ones left on the island, and we have nothing left! All because of your little whim!"

"I'm very sorry to hear that..." said Francis quietly. "But that honestly wasn't my intention-"

"Screw your intentions!" snapped the boy. "It's all your fault!"

"Stop it!" Nadja intervened. "Francis didn't do anything wrong!"

"Oh really?" countered the little boy. "Nobles like these two just give away money to make themselves feel better, and they throw words like 'charity' around to make it seem valid. But you never want to sweat your own sweat to do anything, do you?"

"You're wrong!" Nadja insisted, but the little boy just grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her across a hill, Francis and Maryann following, to a building of white stone—or what must have once been a building of white stone. Now it was crumbling to pieces—the fence that had enclosed it was practically gone, and the ceiling had fallen in...it was definitely not inhabitable.

"Look at this! Because of _him_, this is what's happened to our orphanage! We have no home to return to. Our friends from the orphanage'll never be living with us again, because of what's happened here."

There was a long silence as Nadja, Francis, and Maryann stared at the ruins before them. Nadja racked her brain for something to say to Francis—something to make this seem even marginally better. Maryann, however, stood silently. She knew, of course, of what had happened to Pegasus Orphanage—that was why Francis had come back to Mykonos Island, and why she had come with him. She had had a feeling that something like this might happen.

Francis could do nothing but stare blankly at the ruins before him. It was one thing to hear about it—it was another thing to see it with his own eyes, and know that he was the cause. "That's...that's why I came back," Francis said quietly. "If there's anything I can do-"

"Do?" snapped the little boy, and the smaller one glared beside him. "Can you use that money of yours to bring back the kind headmaster we used to have?" Francis didn't—couldn't—reply. "Just leave this island." And they ran off.

"Francis..." said Nadja quietly. She took a step forward to go and comfort him—only to be stopped by Maryann. Nadja looked up at the lady, her eyes asking all the questions running through her mind. But Maryann's eyes were hard.

"Can you come with me a moment?" asked Maryann.

"You're not going to be fighting again, are you?" asked Francis tiredly.

"Francis," Nadja started apologetically, but Maryann interrupted.

"No, Francis. Not now."

"Good." Francis's back was to them, but his shoulders were hunched as he stood with one hand on what remained of the enclosing wall of the orphanage.

Maryann made a gesture to Nadja to follow, and turned her back on Francis and the orphanage. Nadja looked back at Francis's hunched back. He always seemed so straightforward, so strong...and now he was finding out that one of the beliefs that he'd held on to with every fiber of his being was hardly foolproof, and could even hurt people more than it helped. How she wanted to comfort him... But how _could_ she comfort him in such a situation? What could she say? Maybe Maryann had an idea...? Hoping that this was the case, Nadja turned and ran after Maryann.

"Nadja—do you care about Francis?" asked Maryann when they were far enough to be out of earshot of Francis.

"Of course!" Nadja glared. Was she going to pick up where she'd left off earlier?

"I'm sorry about the things I said earlier," Maryann apologized, much to Nadja's surprise. "I really do care about Francis. In fact, I've looked at no one but Francis ever since I was a little girl, and have no intention of letting you have him now." Nadja opened her mouth to respond to that angrily, but was cut off again. "But now isn't the time to argue about that. We both care about Francis, don't we?"

"Well...yes," Nadja replied slowly.

"Then we'll work together. I couldn't have done this alone, and I would have just stood by and watched Francis suffer, doing what I could—which wouldn't have been much, I assure you. But maybe if we work together, we can fix this."

"What, you mean, fix the orphanage?"

"If I know Francis, by tomorrow he'll have gotten it into his head that he's got to do all he can do, and he'll resort to desperate measures."

"Desperate-"

"I really don't know, but if I know him, he'll probably do something along the lines of trying to make a home for those two boys—or even trying to rebuild the orphanage with his bare hands."

"But that's-"

"Ridiculous? Of course it is, but Francis just might manage it. He can be quite stubborn when he wants to be, you know." Maryann smiled fondly then, and Nadja felt her inner assurance that she was in love with Francis and no one could ever love Francis more than she did begin to waver. Maryann would stand by while Francis suffered, doing what she could to support him—Nadja didn't think she could stand that.

"Listen," Maryann went on. "I'm going to the mayor of the island to give me a list of the children that used to live at the Pegasus Orphanage, and then I'm going to set out finding the children. I want you to find the man who used to be the headmaster of the orphanage, and convince him to take the children back."

Nadja stared. "Wait—why me? And why did you say you couldn't do anything without-"

"Because I know myself," said Maryann, shaking her head. "I appeal to people's minds—to their reason—and that isn't going to bring back a man whose head got turned by money. But you're like Francis—you appeal to people's hearts, to their emotions. I think you might have a chance at turning the headmaster back." The smile Maryann gave Nadja was completely guileless, and Nadja couldn't help smiling back.

"Of course I'll help," Nadja said. "So...what do I look for?"

"His name's Hektor Diakos. Lives somewhere on this island, presumably in one of those huge mansions."

Nadja frowned. "What? What do you mean, 'somewhere on this island'? That isn't exactly very precise."

Maryann glared. "Don't forget that while you're running around Mykono Island looking for one individual, I'll be running around Greece in search of twenty-three individuals. Oh, and since unless Francis is secretly some sort of monster, I sincerely doubt that he's going to manage to rebuild the orphanage single-handedly with his bare hands, so it would be great if you could convince Mr. Diakos to turn his should-be-mansion into the new orphanage."

"But-" That seemed impossible.

"Don't worry, if you can't do that, I can always hire someone to rebuild the orphanage." Nadja nearly took that as a personal insult, until she noticed the sad, wistful way that Maryann was looking down the hill they were standing on at Francis. Francis was still standing where they had left him, looking like all the life and happiness had been sucked out of him. "I just was sort of hoping that we could do this with the use of as little money as possible—restore Francis's faith in humanity, you know."

To say that Nadja was thrown would have been an understatement. Maryann really loved Francis—Nadja could hardly doubt that now. It was her own love for Francis that she was doubting now. Was it really strong enough to even _compete_ with Maryann's? "Sure," Nadja replied quietly. "We'll work together."

"And then we'll be rivals again," Maryann smiled. "But until then, we're putting that aside."

"I know," Nadja stated indignantly. Maryann chuckled.

"You're easy to annoy, aren't you? I'll bet Keith never misses the chance to annoy the life out of you, does he?"

Nadja glared. "I thought we're putting that aside."

"Sorry, it was just an innocent question. He's never missed the opportunity to rile up a girl he liked, you know."

"He doesn't like- Wait, you mean he's liked lots of girls?"

Maryann gave a secretive smile that was almost a smirk and turned to walk off. "My, my, aren't _we_ jealous!"

"Wha- I'm not jealous!" Nadja snapped at Maryann's back, and all she received was the knowledge that Maryann was smiling in a very self-satisfied way as she walked off.

Nadja took a moment to glare at Maryann, then turned to look sadly at Francis one last time before she turned and ran off.

Nadja spent the remainder of that afternoon asking after a "Hektor Diakos" throughout the island, but by the time that someone pointed her to a manor "directly on the other side of the island from here, actually," she was practically all the way back to Troupe Dandelion, and the sun had set. Opting to go to bed for the day, she turned away and returned to the car, but was too exhausted to answer her curious family's questions before falling into bed with exhaustion. She was up and gone early the next morning before they could question her—she had to be gone and back before the performance, after all.

She practically ran to the other side of the island, or as close to running as she could without rendering her legs useless; it still took her nearly 3 hours. It wasn't difficult to find the Diakos mansion, as it happened, though she was warned that the master of the house wasn't the most friendly person in the world.

When, true to the predictions of the people in the area, the man failed to answer his doorbell, a huffy Nadja made up her mind: if she couldn't enter from the doorway like the honest person that she was, she'd get in through a window, and curse that Diakos figure if he tried to resist, because she was _not_ about to let him!

* * *

"Nadja," Francis acknowledged sullenly as she walked up to him. Nadja looked around in sympathy. It was raining—the Troupe's performance for the day had been canceled, and she was sheltering Mr. Diakos beside her with her umbrella that she was supposed to use for her dance. True to Maryann's words, Francis seemed to have taken it upon himself to single-handedly rebuild the orphanage. The outer wall was already quite a bit taller than it had been, in fact, but Nadja sincerely doubted that even Francis could rebuild the fallen ceiling.

"Francis, this is Mr. Diakos. He's agreed to take the orphans into his manor."

"Mr..." Francis stared up at the man standing beside Nadja. "But you're-"

"I know." The man's tearing eyes now overflowed, and he fell to his knees before the muddy noble. "I'm so sorry. It was wrong of me, I know that. This young lady saw to it that I understood that, of course, but she only really drove home what I already knew. And then what with the arrival of th-"

"He regrets everything he's done, don't you, Mr. Diakos?" Nadja smiled, pretending she hadn't just interrupted him. Things were going well—she was _not_ going to let Mr. Diakos ruin this for her. She turned to Francis. "Maryann's going around to collect the other children who used to live at Pegasus Orphanage—well, the ones who haven't found a decent home yet, at least."

"Nadja..." Francis's eyes filled with tears and he pulled her into his arms. "Nadja, thank you. You have no idea what this means to me. I-"

"It was Maryann's idea, you know," Nadja interjected awkwardly. The way Francis was holding her and looking at her, she got the distinct feeling that he was about to kiss her—how she wished she could welcome it.

But she knew that Maryann loved Francis more than she did, and she knew that as long as her betrayal of Francis remained hidden, she had no right to encourage his affection...and how she regretted that things couldn't have been different.

"We've got to find Mour and that other little boy," Nadja smiled, pulling away just as she saw Francis's head beginning to duck so that his lips could meet hers. She felt a twang through her chest. "And then I've got to talk to you about that thing I mentioned yesterday."

Francis's smile did not even falter. "And then we've just got to wait for Maryann." Despite her worries, Francis's glee was contagious, and Nadja couldn't help grinning back. Then Francis's face turned serious. "I mean it, Nadja—thank you." Then he looked up at Mr. Diakos, his delighted grin back in place. "Shall we look for your boys then, sir?"

Mr. Diakos and Francis exchanged smiles—both of them were at fault, they knew. Francis for failing to understand what money could do to a person, and Mr. Diakos for falling to the lure of material worth. Nadja watched them walk off through the rain with a smile on her face, and picked up her umbrella from where it had fallen when Francis had tugged her into his arms.

Then her smile faded. There were still two things left to do, and neither boded well for the future of her and Francis's relationship.  She was running off after the pair, when a movement caught her attention in the corner of her eye. "Mour!" she called. There was no response. "Come on, Mour, I know you're there."

The boy slowly stepped out of the shadows of the ruins. "I was wrong," he said quietly, his eyes tragically empty with sorrow. "I thought- but he- I mean, he tried to fix our orphanage with his bare hands! All by himself! And he was actually _making progress_. I never thought- never imagined that _anyone_-"

"And we found your headmaster," Nadja smiled down at the boy. The smaller boy peeked out from behind the wall, his expression echoing the older boy's shock. "He feels horrible about what he did to you boys, and he's taking you all back. His mansion's going to be your new home."

"But-"

"I know it might take some time for you to forgive him. He knows that too." Nadja smiled down at the two boys kindly. "But he's hoping that you'll forgive him. It took me a while to convince him that you might forgive him, you know. He was sure you wouldn't. So please give him a chance?"

The little boy sniffed. The smaller boy sniffled. "Fine," said the little boy at last. Nadja graced him with one of her biggest smiles.

"Then let's go!" And she took the two boys by the hand and they ran after the pair.

"Francis!" Nadja called after the figures far ahead of them, while the smaller boy called, "Headmaster!" The elder boy said nothing, and simply ran.

It was Mr. Diakos who first heard them. He turned around, and his old crinkled eyes widened dramatically. "Boys?" Nadja heard him murmur through the rain as they came to a halt before him. She pushed the boys forward. The boys and their headmaster just stood there staring at each other. Francis smiled, and came to put an arm around Nadja. _Well,_ Nadja figured, _I suppose I can allow myself this much for now._

Mr. Diakos knelt before the boys. Not a fall, like he had fallen to his knees before Francis, but slowly, never taking his pleading eyes off of the boys. "I'm sorry, boys," he whispered. "So sorry. And I know that 'sorry' doesn't fix it, and what I've done is horrible, but I hope—I hope you can find it in your hearts to let me give you back the home that I should have kept for you all along."

The younger boy looked between the elder boy and their former headmaster. "Can you promise that whatever happens, you won't take our home away from us this time?"

"I promise," choked out the aged man. "I promise you won't lose your home this time. I'll never take it away from you, and I'll write up a will that leaves everything to you boys. I'll even find another person to train as your headmaster, to take over once I'm gone. I'm so very sorry..."

"Well," whispered the elder of the two boys, and he sounded choked, "I suppose that's a start." The younger boy began to sob and threw himself at their headmaster, who embraced him back just as fiercely. A single tear leaked out of the elder boy's eye, and Nadja and Francis exchanged a smile as they turned and left the newly reformed family to themselves.

"Again, Nadja, thank you so much." And Nadja was tugged unceremoniously back into the real world where things definitely weren't perfect. She stepped back from the circle of his arm to face him.

"Francis...I need to tell you something."

"Yes, you said that you and Maryann were arguing over something you weren't supposed to have. I'm sorry I got a little snippish about that. You two seem to have worked it out—you can handle yourselves, after all, I really shouldn't have-"

"No," Nadja interrupted. "Francis, this wasn't something that had nothing to do with you. It has lots to do with you, actually."  Francis blinked. Nadja took a deep breath and pulled from her pocket the kaleidoscope. "Do you recognize this?"

Francis's eyes widened, and snapped from the kaleidoscope to Nadja's face. "How did you- Where did you find that?"

"In my pocket," Nadja replied in perfect seriousness.

"Wha- You can't mean that you have no idea how it got there?"

Nadja gave him a half-smile. "I'm reasonably certain that your brother snuck it into my pocket while he was giving me a tomato."

"Wait—are you telling me that you know Keith?" Francis was expressionless now, and Nadja was beginning to feel a little frightened.

"No—well, yes, I suppose. But through no free will of my own." Francis grabbed Nadja by the shoulders and shook her with vigor.

"That's not- Where is he? Where is my elder brother?!"

"Ow..." winced Nadja. Francis looked down at her as through only just realizing what he was doing. He let go of her with a stammered apology.

"S- sorry. I just—can you tell me where he is now?"

"No," Nadja replied honestly, thanking whatever deities were listening for Francis's wording of the question.

Francis sighed. "I thought so. He's been missing since we graduated from school—I wouldn't expect him to allow himself to be found now, and since he knows you know me... Wait, he knows you know me, right?"

"Very well. Probably the only reason we avoided a more serious mistaking of identities. Though the fact that his kiss wasn't anything like yours was really what-"

"_Kiss_?" snapped Francis, and Nadja's eyes widened as she could only think, _Oops._ "You kissed my _brother_?"

"Erm," said Nadja weakly, "It was really the other way around, and he claims it was your fault."

"My fault? How can it be _my_ fault?"

Nadja tried to be careful to make it sound like it had only happened once without deliberately lying. After all, if Francis was upset enough as it was. "I mentioned you, you see, and he saw the need to make me stop talking. Because I was comparing him to you, and pointing out that he came out not half as decent, though in my defense, I had no clue you were brothers at the time."

Francis sighed. "Just answer me this, Nadja—how many times have you seen him, and what's happened between you two?"

"Five," Nadja winced. Francis stared at her. "But I really had no idea! The first time I saw him I saw his face, but I fainted then and didn't know anything about him so when I met him again and couldn't see his face, I didn't think anything of it and when he started picking arguments I argued back, and then I met you, and I thought you were him because you looked so alike, then I met him again without seeing his face, and I knew it was the same person as the one I'd met the second time but not the first time so we argued some more, then I met you again, then the fourth time I met him I knew it was the same person as the second and third times, but then I managed to see his face and realized that he was you but not you, and then we sorted out what times it had been you and what times it had been him, then I fainted again—I think I was overwhelmed—and the next time we met we argued some more and when he was leaving he gave me a tomato as a peace offering, which is when I assume he snuck that kaleidoscope into my pocket. And that pretty much covers my relationship with your brother."

Francis shook his head, sighing again. "I assume this means you'll need some time to think about this—which one you really like, and all that."

"I'm sorry," said Nadja quietly.

"It's not your fault," Francis replied with a tight smile.

"I have to go now," Nadja said, backing away slowly. It was more out of the desire to leave this awkwardness as far behind as possible than anything else. "I'm really so sorry..."

"It's all right," Francis nodded, and Nadja couldn't stand to look at his expression, so she turned and took off across the island.

* * *

"_What_ are _you_ doing here?" demanded the Black Rose, crossing his arms and tapping his foot.

"Waiting for you."

"Why, darling, I didn't know you cared."

"I'm not- You're not- That's not what I meant!" Nadja shouted, waving her arms and stomping.

"Now now, you don't want to wake the whole household."

"No one lives in here but a kind old man and twenty-five orphaned boys, and I'm _not_ going to let you ruin their lives."

The Black Rose looked down at her. "Last I checked, there was only an old man who lived here, and he was a former headmaster of Pegasus Orphanage who took off with all the money they received in a donation from the House of Harcourt, leaving the twenty-five children to be shipped off to random orphanages around Greece if they had relatives or friends who could afford that; the two who didn't wound up staying here, homeless and grieving."

"Yes, well Francis, Maryann and I changed that, and I'm not letting you undo everything we've worked so hard to do." Nadja crossed her arms defiantly.

"Why don't you humor me and tell me how this came about," asked the Black Rose, "while we walk back to Troupe Dandelion? Or would you rather faint of exhaustion and have me carry you back to Anna again?"

Nadja glared. "I can handle myself."

"But we still don't want to wake up the household, do we? Let's go."

Nadja sighed and complied on both counts, and they walked slowly down the island as he removed his disguise and she told him of the revelation of the tragedy caused by Francis's donations, Maryann's plan to fix the situation, and how they had carried out the plan

"...And Maryann arrived that evening with all twenty-three boys! It turned out that none of them were happy where they'd been, and they all wanted to come back to the group they thought of as a family. Maryann just explained that she was bringing the boys back together, and nothing about the headmaster—I think maybe she didn't trust me—"-as Nadja added this part with a dissatisfied frown, the now-unmasked Keith snorted-"but it worked, at any rate. They were all reluctant to forgive Mr. Diakos, but he was just so sincere and so guilty about what he'd done, they all agreed to come back in the end."

"And the main reason he agreed to come back was because you told him you could stop me," Keith snorted. "I wouldn't trust that. People like him'll do anything to keep their money."

"No!" Nadja snapped, glaring at Keith vehemently. "He'd agreed even before I told him that! He just pointed out that he probably wouldn't be able to house them in his mansion, since the Black Rose was due to appear and take his money. I told him that I could stop that from happening, so he didn't have to worry."

"Hm," said Keith, lost in his faraway world where he was trying to formulate a plan to counteract Nadja's terrible blunder without letting her realize that she had made a blunder, or that he was going out of his way to correct it for her. "So, no catfights between you and Maryann?"

"What?" Nadja gave a start, then glared. "The only argument we had was a result of this," she snapped, holding out the kaleidoscope, "Which you are now going to take back. You travel just as much as I do."

Keith smiled gently. "I want you to have that, Nadja."

"But-"

"If nothing else, let it remind you of a woman who was locked away in the world of nobles and never got to fly free—as you do now." Nadja did not retract her arm, but looked up at him uncertainly. "So," Keith smiled wryly as he slipped on his mask again, "All this trouble just for Francis's sake—including talking to me."

"Of course," Nadja replied, glaring defiantly. The mask concealed from her Keith's eyes narrowing in sorrow or affection, or both.

"Don't lose that brooch again," he warned her quietly, and ran off in the opposite direction, back the way they had come.

"Wait!" Nadja called, and was only a little surprised when he did. "Don't-"

"I won't take anything, Nadja," said the Black Rose gently. "I promise."

"Then why-"

"I need to leave something to let him know that I didn't just change my night of attack. You don't want him living in terror of my imminent appearance, now, do you?"

"No," Nadja said quietly. "Thank you, Keith."

The Black Rose smiled, and then vanished into the night. Nadja would never learn of the note that awaited Hektor Diakos the next morning, written on the back of one of the Black Rose's cards:

"The girl explained the situation to me; rest assured that you are safe for now. If, however, I ever hear about any steps backward on your part, I'll be back sooner than you expect. Good luck with the orphanage. Sincerely, the Black Rose.

"Postscript: should I ever hear of anyone trying to track me through the girl, or any harm befalling the girl in any shape, way or form that relates back to me and/or you, I'll be back and you'll regret the day you told anyone about the connection. I don't take well to innocents befalling harm on my behalf. I also suggest you burn this as soon as you finish reading it."

Needless to say, the card entered the stove with the coal the next morning, and the man never spilled a word.


	4. So He Took a Bow

**When Masks Fall Off**  **Chapter 4.36: So He Took a Bow**

The next time Nadja heard news of either of the Harcourt twins was in Salzburg, a month and a half after leaving Mykonos Island. The mayor was opening a charity concert, and Troupe Dandelion had been hired to perform; yet for some reason, rumors were running around that the mayor had received a card of the Black Rose—a sure sign that the Black Rose would arrive to rob him in the near future.

That night, once the Leader's snores were echoing through the car and Rita had begun to mutter nonsense in her sleep, Nadja sat up and looked around. Once she had satisfied herself that everyone was indeed fast asleep, she dressed quickly and silently, and crept out of the car. She wasn't too sure what she was expecting to find as she raced down the street, but at the very least, she wanted to get a straight answer out of Keith as to _why_ he was going to steal from the mayor.

Surprisingly, she hadn't been walking long before the shout of, "It's the Black Rose!" caught her ears. Oddly enough, she froze. She should have ducked into an alley—there was one right beside her, in fact—but why should _she_ act like a criminal? She was just an innocent young girl taking a walk...right? Footsteps were growing closer, and just as she was beginning to think that she was going to have to explain herself to the suspicious police, an arm shot out of the alleyway and tugged her in.

She would have screamed, except a hand was tightly over her mouth. She would have struggled, except by the time the shock wore off, she had identified her captor and was too busy glaring at the individual whom she knew to be Keith over her shoulder to bother. Really, there had to be something wrong with the fact that she could identify him by nothing more than his touch. That was the way she had identified him as the real Black Rose at the masquerade in Paris, she recalled vaguely. Strange.

The police reported to one another—all had yet to find the Black Rose, obviously—and dispersed. Keith released Nadja.

"Did you _have_ to do that?"

"What, the gagging part? Because you were on the verge of screaming."

"You knew I wouldn't scream after the police came."

"Did I?" countered Keith, raising an eyebrow. "For all I know, you could have turned me in. I'm not your favorite person, as you've made abundantly clear!"

Nadja wondered why that statement made her feel guilty. It was the truth...wasn't it? _No,_ replied some part of Nadja's brain. _If he were caught, you'd do everything in your power to save him, and you know it._ Which brought her to the question, why did she care

"Well, I've got to be getting back to bed now," Nadja stated, if slightly snappily. "Goodbye!" And she rushed out of the alley and onto the street. Keith probably would have let her run off if he hadn't heard the sound of some policemen returning then. He raced after Nadja, who had once again frozen. Keith nearly rolled his eyes. She was acting like _she_ was guilty of thievery! Or was it that she felt guilty for knowing him and not turning him in? Either way, he couldn't leave her. She was a poor girl in a tattered, though clean, dress. The police didn't take well to such individuals, Keith knew. Moneyless could mean criminal in their eyes.

"Shh!" whispered Keith, putting an arm around her shoulders and beginning to walk as casually as if the police weren't after him. "Just keep your face down and follow my lead."

"Wh-"

"Shh!"

The police rounded the corner. "Halt! Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"The police of Salzburg certainly are quite rough," Keith noted mildly.

"What? Who are you?"

"Francis Harcourt," replied Keith. He was prepared for Nadja's accusing look at him and shot her a warning glare as the police recalled Francis Harcourt as the rich, important individual from the tree-planting event the previous year. It almost made Keith sick how a mere _name_ got them off the hook.  "We apologize, sir!" said the policemen in unison.

"It's no matter, now that we understand each other," Keith replied mildly. Then, just to lighten his own mood, "Shall we go then, my dear?" he inquired of Nadja, kissing her on the cheek. He didn't miss her look of annoyance, and his spirits were back up. Maybe that was why he so enjoyed picking on Nadja. She had this way of unconsciously lifting his spirits when he wasn't feeling so good, or even remotely good at all.

"What was that supposed to be?" whispered a very annoyed Nadja, shrugging off his hand from her shoulder as the police ran off and rounded the corner behind them

"_'My dear'?_"

"Would you have preferred 'my little rose bud'?" Keith asked. How he managed to remember every little thing that annoyed Nadja was beyond him—he had only heard that one once, and it had been over half a year ago. True to his predictions, Nadja glared and stomped off. After chuckling to himself a moment and shaking his head, Keith took off after her.

"Wait, Nadja, I'm sorry for treating you like we were lovers! You know it would have looked strange otherwise."  Nadja didn't reply.

"Nadja, come on. I really-"

"Why did you do that?" demanded Nadja, spinning around to face him.

Keith stared. "What, treat you like I did? Because otherwise we'd have been Francis Harcourt and a random young girl, and that could have been cause for a scandal—it would have made the papers if either policeman was in need of money, and next thing you know, they'd be on their way to uncovering me."

"No!" snapped Nadja, throwing her hands into the air. "I mean why did you have to use Francis's name?"

Keith's eyes darkened. So that was what this was about? His smirk didn't leave his face, but his stomach sank back to the pit it had been in before he had cheered himself up by teasing Nadja.

"What if they start suspecting Francis? Then what?" Keith snorted, still smirking. What did he care? Unfortunately, his sentiments were apparently clear to Nadja, who stormed off again in a huff.

"Why did you freeze every time the police came after you?" Keith asked.

Nadja turned and glared. "_Some_ of us actually get a guilty conscience from sneaking into peoples' houses uninvited for the sole purpose of doing something that the individual won't like!"

"You snuck into someone's house? When?" asked a mildly mildly thrown, mildly amused Keith.

"Mykonos Island," Nadja snapped. "And it's not funny. It's not right, and you know it as well as I do." With that, she stormed off again.

Keith hesitated a moment this time before going after the girl again. "Nadja..."

Nadja stopped. "Why?" There was a pause, and Keith was about to ask her to elaborate when she did so of her own accord. "Why are you and Francis so different? You're so alike in so many ways, and you even dedicate your life to the same goals! And yet..."

Keith sighed, shaking his head. "Where there is light, there's always a shadow. Francis grew up only seeing our mother's light; I saw her shadow. That's the difference."

Nadja looked at him sadly as he told the tale of his mother: a bright, cheerful woman who loved helping the needy, particularly orphans, but found herself restricted by her husband, who saw her effort in keeping up appearances at parties as more important than her charity work. And then of the death of the saddened, lonely woman who was oppressed by the world of nobility.

"I'm sorry," Nadja said quietly, "I didn't know."

"Nobles wear a lot more masks than I do. And that," Keith told Nadja firmly, looking at her brooch, "Is why I want you to-"  He stopped. Her brooch was gone. Why was it gone? He grabbed her by the shoulder.

"Nadja, where's your brooch?"  Nadja looked up at him in wide-eyed surprise for a moment, then closed her eyes. "It was stolen from me in Egypt."  Keith couldn't believe it. "After I told you that firmly never to let it out of your sight?"  Nadja sighed. "I'm sorry. It was the same pair that you saved me from at Applefield. They've been trying to get it for quite some time..."

"Them?" Keith furrowed his brow, thinking. "That probably means that they were hired by someone in the House of Preminger."  "Keith, how do you know about the House of Preminger?" She sounded shocked—she had probably only figured it out herself recently.

"That night at Applefield, when I picked up the ring to put it back into the brooch, I just happened to notice its little trick. The swan design looked familiar, so I did a little bit of research and learned that it was a part of the coat of arms of the House of Preminger."

Nadja seemed almost tired as she looked at him and replied, "So you knew."

Keith looked penetratingly at Nadja, taking her by the shoulders. "Nadja, stay away from the House of Preminger."

"What, why?"

"There's been quite a bit of unrest in the House of Preminger as of late, about who's to take over after the Duke. Situations like that can be dangerous: don't go to Vienna."

"No!"

Keith was surprised, to say the least. She was at least listening to him intently, hearing him out, and he had not expected such a vehement reply. "Nadja?"  "I just want to meet my mother."

"And then what? Do you _want_ to become a noble?" demanded Keith, exhasperated.

"I don't _care!_" Nadja replied, practically in tears. "My mother could be the richest noble around or dirt poor, and it wouldn't matter to me either way! I just want to see my mother!" And then she actually began to cry.

Keith was an international thief, feared throughout Europe, and he had stood by expressionlessly as he had watched people scream and cry in horror at the loss of things he took. He fought attackers as casually as though he did so everyday. Yet, when Nadja began to cry, all those walls, all that emotionlessness that he had built up over the years as the Black Rose, crumbled to nothing and he sighed. "All right, Nadja," he said gently, and caught her by the chin. To his surprise, she didn't resist in the least when he pressed his lips to her forehead.

Then he turned to walk away...until, "Keith!"

He stopped and looked around. "Nadja?"

"Thank you."

"For what?" asked Keith in surprise.

"For understanding. For being there."

Keith smiled wryly. "Anytime."

And then he walked away, and all the way back to the car, Nadja fought the odd feeling that something wasn't right. She had no reason to worry...right?  _I didn't even remember to ask about the mayor,_ Nadja noted wryly.

* * *

It was that very same night that the Black Rose appeared in Vienna—at the House of Corlade.

He found a brooch in the drawer of the bedchamber of Herman Preminger, and felled the two detectives as well as Herman when they attempted to stop him. He was almost about the window when he saw a girl beneath the window being referred to as "Nadja"...only she wasn't Nadja. Her hair was darker, her eyes were far more calculating, her hair was far more wavy...she _wasn't Nadja._ When Herman put a gun to Keith's head, it would have been a simple maneuver to tear the gun from Herman's inexperienced hands before he had the chance to even _think_ of pulling the trigger.

But he was doing this for Nadja, and if there was a girl who wasn't Nadja in the same house as the stolen brooch being called Nadja, something was definitely going on that had to do with Nadja. He had to figure it out, and so he allowed himself to be bound and gagged, dragged into an underground room, and chaind to the wall. He endured the whipping at Herman's hands; a thought of Nadja was all he needed to get through it without spilling a thing, he found, and he almost smirked wryly at the realization of the depth of his love for the girl who was in love with his brother, but the whip struck again then, and the smirk turned into a grunt of pain.

When the whipping was over, Herman left the two detectives to look after him so that he wouldn't escape—and that was the moment he had been waiting for.  It was a simple trick to hide coins on his person, and he had never been so grateful that he had studied the art of trickery, for it took two gold coins (apparently conjured out of nowhere, to the eyes of the detectives) to bribe the truth out of the detectives: that Herman was going to set up the girl as the next heir of the House of Preminger. Which meant that _Nadja_ was to be the heir, Keith realized, and that would explain why so many people were after Nadja and her brooch.

Across Austria, Nadja danced, attempting to save the charity concert that was falling apart with the abrupt departure of the mayor. She was entirely unaware of a beaten, wounded Keith murmuring her name exhaustedly in an underground cell...except, perhaps, for a strange tug in her chest as she danced.


	5. And the Crowd Went Wild

**When Masks Fall Off**  **Chapter 4.37: And the Crowd Went Wild**

It would have to be an understatement to say that Nadja was surprised when, two nights after their previous encounter, she was woken by the Black Rose himself. She almost cried out, but he was quick to cover her mouth (probably experience, she thought wryly). He had apparently taken her words to heart—he was gentler this time, only covering her mouth long enough to signal to her to be quiet, and releasing her as soon as she closed her mouth.

She shooed him out of the car then, pulling out her dress as she did so to show him that she intended to dress. He left, and no more than a minute later, Nadja had joined him outside, muttering angrily about thieves who snuck up on sleeping girls. But when Keith apologized, explaining that there was no other way for him to get her attentioin, Nadja smiled, and he almost thought that that made everything worth it: the grueling ride on horseback from Vienna to Salzburg that had been pure torture, with the wounds that covered his body. But Nadja was happy, and just because he had come to see her, without even knowing anything of what he had done for her.

"Nadja," he said, walking around to face her. "Here..." And he pulled out the brooch from his inner coat pocket.

Nadja's eyes went wide, and she gasped. "My brooch! You got it back! Thank you so much..." She took it from him reverently. Then she frowned. "But how? Where did you find it? You didn't _steal_ it for me, did you?" Suddenly, she sounded nervous. But Keith hushed her in a gesture, and then knelt before her, taking her brooch to refasten it to her bow. "I can't accept stolen property..." Nadja said, almost mechanically. It was moments like this that reminded Keith to a painful extent how the girl he loved was in love with his brother.

"This isn't stolen property," said Keith, and he sounded almost harsh in his determination to get across to her. "I just got back what was stolen."

"Keith..." Nadja murmured.

Keith stood again. "Never let that brooch out of your sight again. All right?" And he proceeded to walk away. His wounds hurt, and he didn't think he could stand up straight for much longer.

"Keith!" Nadja called at his back. He stopped. "Thank you."

Something warm and fuzzy spread through his chest, and the pain actually cleared for a moment...and he remembered a small detail. "One more thing: beware of a man named Herman."

"Herman?" muttered Nadja, racking her brain to see if she knew anyone by that name. She didn't notice that Keith was walking away for a few moments. When she did, she stared after him for a moment in silence, something painful in her chest. Why was he acting so...so _cold_ today? She wished he'd look her way again, if just once...

_Was it my ingratitude?_ she wondered. _He goes all the way to Vienna and back to get my brooch for me, and I say I can't take it..._

"Keith!" she called, running after him. "Thank you, really." She stopped right behind him, ignorant of the grimace on his face as he fought to remain standing straight.

"You already said that," Keith growled. "Was there something you wanted?" He hadn't meant it to come out so harshly, but...if she learned of his wounds...!

"Keith..." Nadja sounded hurt, and it shot a pain through his chest. "Why are you running away like this?" She made the mistake of touching his shoulder then, wondering why he wasn't turning around to even look at her...

...And he gave a cry and collapsed to his knees.

"Keith?" Nadja called, alarmed. "Keith—what's wrong?"

"Nothing," growled the unmasked thief. "Absolutely nothing at all. You should go back before someone wakes up and notices you missing."

"But Keith!" Nadja cried. She was crying again, and looked like she desperately wanted to touch him, but was afraid to. Then her eyes suddenly turned hard as a thought seemed to occur to her. Just as Keith was beginning to feel a slight foreboding at the glint in her eyes, she grabbed the back of his coat and tugged it down.

This placed Keith's arms in an awkward position behind him which would not have been at all painful in ordinary circumstances, but given the way things were, he gritted his teeth against the pain for a moment before pulling the coat back up.

But even in the moonlight, Nadja had seen all she needed to see. Her eyes were wide with horror. "Keith... We have to get you to a doctor; or at least to a bed! Come to the Troupe's car, it's safe there-"

"And would you like to explain to them why you're acquainted with the Black Rose?" He stood and began to leave.

"But that doesn't matter!" Nadja cried, grabbing him by the wrist as gently as she could without letting him go. "Please-"

"I don't want your pity or sympathy or even _gratitude_," Keith growled. "I did this because I love you, and for no other reason. Do you think I just _wanted_ to get involved with the intrigues of one of the most messed up noble houses I've ever seen?"

Tears were running down Nadja's cheeks. "But you're hurt... Please, let me help you!"

Keith looked down at her a moment, and smiled softly. "I'm sorry for worrying you. But I'll be fine after a little rest."

"What did they do to you?" Nadja whispered.

"Nothing too bad," Keith replied vaguely.

"Keith-" Nadja began, only to find what had been the beginning of an angry tirade cut off by Keith's mouth on hers.

The kiss was a short one, rather like their first, although this one had only a single purpose, Nadja realized when she snapped out of a bewildered daze to find Keith long gone: to distract Nadja so Keith could get away. Nadja's angry cry reached Keith as he ran off, and also included the side benefit of waking the entire Troupe.

"Nadja?" called a groggy Kennosuke.

"Why are you dressed?" asked Thomas tiredly.

"Why are you outside?" mumbled Sylvie.

"Why are you screaming?" demanded an obvioulsy tired Rita.

Nadja didn't reply as she stomped back inside. "Sorry for waking everybody, but it's nothing."

"You're brooch's back!" Rita cried, siddenly sounding very much awake. Her cry fully roused everyone else as well.

"Wha- where'd _that_ come from?" demanded Kennosuke.

"Nadja..." said Sylvie quietly. "Is that blood on your fingers?"

Nadja looked down, and indeed, it was. Keith's blood. Shed for her. Because he loved her.

Nadja couldn't reply to a single question, for tears filled her eyes then and a sob shoved its way out her lips.

_Keith..._


	6. When Arguments Form Doubts

**When Masks Fall Off**  **Chapter 5.44: When Arguments Form Doubts**

It was Francis. It was _Francis_. Sure, she had been delighted to see him before, and every encounter with him and Keith as of late had been extremely emotional. But this was very different; she was not feeling emotional because of her conflicting feelings for the brothers; this time it was because she had spent so long alone, among strangers and practically strangers like John and Raphael, and now here was Francis, someone whom she actually felt like she really _knew_ and trusted like family.

The thought made her pause a moment. Like _family?_ Was that what she had just thought? No; that couldn't be right; she was in _love_ with Francis! Not...

The thought brought to mind the memory of the back of Keith's blood-stained shirt, for some reason, and Nadja shoved the thought from her mind with an internal shudder.

"Nadja," said Francis, approaching through the crowd.

"Francis," Nadja replied.

"Oh, you two know each other?" said John. "He's the friend from school I told you about, Nadja; the one who made me tea?"

But it was no longer particularly important what John had to say, or how he and Francis knew each other, because Francis was _there_. A tear slipped from Nadja's eyes as she thought of everything that she had gone through between now and the last time she had seen Francis. Her brooch robbed, then Kei- Then Rosemary pretending to be her, and her mother taken from her, being chased by the police, going off on her own, learning the trials that came with living in this world on one's own...

"Lots has happened since then," Nadja said quietly. "A friend is impersonating me...I had to leave the Troupe..."

Francis pulled Nadja into a soft embrace. Nadja felt the tears leak from her eyes more rapidly than ever. Francis was so like Keith, she couldn't help thinking, and yet so different. Francis's embrace was soft; comforting. Keith's was...stronger, both rougher and securer at the same time. Nadja gently pulled herself from Francis's embrace, and smiled up at him.

Apparently, Francis didn't miss the sadness in her smile, because he bid John a quick goodbye, heading off with an arm around Nadja's shoulders to exit to call over his carriage. In the carriage, on the way back to the Harcourt Manor, Nadja explained to Francis everything that had happened as of late. It was a relief to get all her pain off her chest—yet she couldn't bring herself to say a word of Keith, though being around Francis brought Keith further forward in her mind than he had been in weeks.  Was he all right? Was he even _alive?_ Why wasn't he coming to see her? Why had he even _gone_ that far, just for her? Because he _loved_ her, he had said? Well, was _love_ even that important? More important than his _life_?

"Don't worry," said Francis. Nadja looked up; he was smiling at her. Her heart caught in her throat: he knew what she'd been thinking. But how? "We'll get your family to see that you're the real Nadja. I'll go with you to the House of Preminger to help you prove that you're really who you say you are."

Nadja gave a start; yes, they'd been talking about that, hadn't they? Somehow, her own problems seemed to pale to insignificance beside the issue of Keith. She tried not to wonder why: the mere _thought_ of the answer to that question was strangely frightening.  When they reached the Harcourt Manor, the pair was unaware of Maryann watching them walk up to the manor. "The manor seems to be bustling today," Nadja commented as they made their way through the hallways of the estate.  "There's a party tonight," Francis explained. "Everyone's in a hurry to prepare for that."

They said no more until they reached a door where Francis stopped. "Just let me get ready first," Francis said, turning the knob. "Then we'll head off to Vienna immediately."

But when he opened the door, there was another man already standing in the room; and Nadja knew who it was at once.

"Brother," said Francis, sounding rather surprised. But Keith paid him no heed.

"Nadja, I've come for you." Nadja just continued to stare. "We're heading for Vienna immediately. I've tracked down your mother: she's remarried, and is now the Countess Waltmular. Let's go!" And he took her by the hand and began dragging him towards the window. _Is he always this reckless?_ wondered some distant part of Nadja's mind. And with that thought came back the stickiness and the warmth of Keith's blood that had seeped heavily through his shirt and stained her fingers red; the way he had been barely able to stand, and yet insisted on pretending that he was fine; all the _worry_ that he had put her through, and then he just had the nerve to _show up_ like he was _fine?_

Nadja snatched her wrist back from Keith's hand, ready to start a tirade...when Francis grabbed Keith by the wrist. "Stop that!" The brothers glared at one another.

"Keith, I'm taking Nadja to Vienna. We're going to meet Duke Preminger and explain everything. If I offer myself as a witness as to the fact that Nadja's always been in possession of that brooch-"

"What a round-about way of getting to your goal," snapped Keith. He slapped Francis's hand from his wrist. "Nadja just wants to meet her mother; the Duke's got nothing to do with this. I'm going to take Nadja and sneak into the Waltmular Manor. That's the fastest way to let Nadja meet her mother."

"And that won't solve anything!" Francis snapped back. "If the Duke doesn't accept Nadja as his granddaughter, Nadja won't be able to live with her mother!"

"If the Duke accepts Nadja as his granddaughter," said Keith, "Nadja will become the Preminger heir." He turned to Nadja, who still stood slightly dazed by everything that was happening around her. Something hot and boiling was rising in her belly, and it was all she could do to shove it down. "Do you _want_ to live the boring life of a noble?"

"Don't make up her mind for her," Francis replied before Nadja had the chance to say a word. "Sure, the life of a noble didn't suit you, but-"

"It doesn't suit Nadja either! I can tell—Nadja, you're meant to be a bird flying free through the sky. Don't enter that cage called nobility!" Nadja struggled to bite her tongue; apparently, Francis saw this as Nadja fretting over what Keith had said to her, for he turned to her gently.

"Don't worry, Nadja. My mother was a noble, but she lived happily, following the path she wanted to live as a person; not as a noble."  "And we're back to your _noblesse oblige,_" spat Keith. "That's just satisfies your own hypocritical satisfaction. Don't make me laugh!" Nadja would have loved to start yelling at Keith then, but the thing that was hot and ugly in her stomach was rising with her anger, and she thought she would explode if she said a word.

"It's better than what you do, at any rate," whispered a furious Francis. "Better than putting on a mask and playing the Hero of Righteousness." For a moment, just for a moment, Nadja forgot the fury building up in her and looked at Francis in surprise. Francis looked back at her, and she knew that he understood in that moment that she'd known who Keith was all along.

"So you knew," said Keith quietly.

"And so did Nadja, apparently," said Francis. "About you being the Black Rose." Outside, amongst the thunder and lightning, it started to rain. "Black Rose the Phantom Thief... Brother, I suppose you do what you do under the impression that you're the champion of the poor, but what you're doing is just plain simple and reckless."

_Simple and reckless._ Even as Nadja saw Keith's hands ball into fists, saw him take a step that was doubtlessly the beginning of a charge at Francis, the words rang true in the fury in her gut, and something inside her that had been holding that fury in check snapped. She took a step forward, and before Keith could realize what she was doing, she slapped him with all her might.

"Nadja?" That was Francis, but his voice seemed somewhere faraway. There was a ringing in her ears, and she glared furiously at the man who stood before her, looking utterly bewildered and shocked.

"Simple and reckless," Nadja growled. _I growled,_ some distant part of her mind registered. _I never thought I'd do that._ "I suppose that hurts your pride, does it? But that, to be perfectly honest, is just about the _best_ description of you I've ever heard!"

Keith's eyes darkened. "And there you go again," he spat, "Siding with your precious Francis. Well then, I'll just leave! I know where I'm not wanted!" He spun around, but Nadja had been ready for that. Silently thanking her foresight to keep the new design of the dress much less movement-restrictive, she did what she had been dying to do the first time she'd met the Black Rose in the alleyway in London.

She kicked him, the sharp high heel of her boot landing perfectly at the center of his back.

Keith gave a choke and fell to the ground. Nadja's eyes narrowed.

"I thought so. Still think you're not reckless? Because that was just _ridiculous!_ Especially the running away! Honestly, do you have _any idea_ what you do to a person when you run away even though they know _perfectly well_ that you're wounded?"

"I wasn't," snapped Keith.

"Oh, and I suppose that you'll tell me that my fingers weren't sticky and red after I touched the back of your shirt."

"No one told you to do that!"

"Didn't they? And what did you expect me to do?"

"Go away and leave me alone, that's what!" Keith snapped. "You know, you can _have_ your precious _Francis_ for all I care—in fact, I never expected you to leave Francis for me at all!"

"Except just now, when you came storming in, ordering me to come with you!"

"That was different!"

The pair was far too engrossed in their argument to notice that Francis was staring at them, quite baffled by the conversation and Nadja's anger. Much as he wanted to cut in, he got the feeling that this Nadja was not to be trifled with, and so kept to his side of the room, watching Keith dig his own grave deeper and deeper. When the door opened, Francis simply gave Maryann a light, "Hi, come in if you want to, but just close the door, would you? This'll get even uglier if Aunt Emma or Father get wind of this."

"My my," Maryann replied, watching Nadja and Keith. "They certainly make quite the couple, don't they?" Francis's heart dropped to his stomach at that comment.

"Different? Different how?" Nadja was currently demanding. "Different from _what?_ You go around kissing me, and then tell me that I'm free to choose Francis! You risk your life for me and come back all bloody and pretending you're fine, and tell you you _love_ me, then tell me to go back to Francis. You come here trying to drag me with you, only to end up telling me that I should just follow _my precious Francis_. You know what, Keith? I think you haven't made up your mind at all! You just _pretend_ you have, for who knows what reason, and I am just plain _sick_ of trying to deal with you!"

"My apologies," said Keith with a mocking bow. Francis would have interjected something, but Nadja's following comment threw him too far, unfortunately: "Shirt. Off. Now."

"My, my," smirked Keith. "Someone's-"

"And if you start mocking me again now, I will personally see to it that something very painful happens to you, because you know full well that I'm only concerned with the state of your back, and if you don't want to show it to me, then fine! But if you ever pull something like that again, I will never, ever, _ever_ forgive you! I don't need you to help me find my mother, so stay out of this!" Nadja spun around to face Francis. "Francis, we're going to Vienna. Let's go."  That said, Nadja grabbed Francis by the hand and dragged the unprotesting, befuddled young man out of the room. Maryann and Keith stared at the door: Maryann in amusement, Keith in half regret, and half frustration.

"Well," commented Maryann lightly. "I was afraid that that girl would take Francis from me, but it would appear that I have nothing to worry about."  Keith stared at the young woman whom he had last seen six years ago. "You're still after Francis?"

Maryann smiled. "But of course."

"Then I should think you have a _lot_ to worry about. She just dragged your Prince Charming out the door!"

Maryann just kept smiling her demure smile, enjoying the first total, complete loss of composure in Keith that she had ever seen. "That's where you went wrong with Nadja. You don't have the _slightest_ idea how a woman's mind works, and you keep infuriating her. Keep this up, and I'm sure you'll successfully get her to kill you out of her love for you."

Keith stared. "Are you suggesting that she did what she just did out of _love?_ Because that would be the most absurd suggestion I've received in years."

"Oh no, Keith," said Maryann, walking up to him with a dangerous smile. "I'm not _suggesting_ anything. I'm _stating_."  "Well, you're wrong," said Keith, standing his ground and glaring at the slowly approaching dangerously demonic female. "You're just trying to convince me to keep pursuing Nadja so you can have Francis."

Maryann chuckled, spreading her feathered fan gracefully to conceal her mouth and nose. "You have so much to learn, Keith. She doesn't _need_ any further persuasion. Have you ever seen her snap at Francis like that?"

"Why would she? She loves him!"  Maryann's eyes went hard, and her fan closed with a sharp _snap_. "The absence of argument isn't love, and you'd do well not to think so. Do you even have any idea _why_ she went berserk on you like she did?"

Keith blinked.

"From what I gather, you hurt yourself quite seriously in trying to help her. You didn't mean for her to find out, but she did."

"So?"  "So you _worried_ her," said Maryann, sounding dangerously on edge. "I swear, why she would choose you over Francis is inconceivable! In fact, I'll bet she even _thinks_ she loves Francis more than you! The innocent, righteous girl would never choose a thief, after all!" Keith remained silent, thinking of all Nadja had ever said to him about hating thievery. "It probably doesn't help that you put your life on the line all the time," Maryann added. "No girl wants her lover dead, after all. She may be a simpleton-"

"You're free to lecture me as you will," snapped Keith, "But leave Nadja alone!"

Maryann stared a moment, then smiled and spread her fan again. "My, this is amusing." Before Keith could ask what she meant by that, she was back on track again. "You worried the poor girl. She already knew that your line of work is dangerous, and you drove that home for her by nearly getting yourself killed for her!"

Keith glared. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I? Perhaps not. You should stay away from Nadja for another week; maybe two, even. She looked quite ready to kill you just now. You weren't much better either, once she started stabbing you in the core of your pride."

Maryann left the room in that suave, elegant sweeping way of hers, and Keith blinked at the door. Had Maryann just been..._nice_ to him? Well, it had been quite a while since the last time _that_ had happened.

* * *

"So, Nadja," Francis was saying tentatively. "I think we should talk."

Nadja sighed, releasing his arm. "I'm sorry, Francis. I didn't mean to..."

Francis waved a hand. "Don't worry about the kicking. I was about to land a punch on him myself, but I must say, you did quite well with that." He offered Nadja a small smile, which she hesitantly returned. "Nadja...if I'm not mistaken...you love him, don't you?"  Nadja's eyes wavered. "Francis, I-"

"Please don't talk around the question Nadja. You're in love with him, aren't you?"

With a sigh, Nadja slid to the floor along the wall. "Yes."

"I see," said Francis quietly, sounding rather choked. "Then...I- I'll just go then."

"No, wait, Francis!" Nadja scrambled to her feet.

"Why, Nadja?" sighed Francis. "You love Keith, and that's all there is to it. This whole thing with me was just a case of...of mistaken identity."

"No, it wasn't!" Nadja protested so vehemently that Francis couldn't help staring. "I love you too, Francis, it's just...not the same _kind_ of love!" Nadja had had plenty of time to think about it, yet she had never understood the situation with as much clarity as she did now. "I love you no less deeply than I love Keith! It's just that...Keith's the one who makes me feel..._alive_, the one who I want to kiss, who brings out things in me I didn't even know I had in me... You—you're dearer to me than I could explain! You're there for me when I need a helping hand, you're fun to talk with, and we've got so much in common, and I just _love_ spending time with you..."

"Like me and Keith were to each other when we were young," Francis replied with a little smile. "Like brothers—or like a sister and brother, in our case."  Nadja looked up at him with a troubled smile. "Yes, that's exactly what... I'm so sorry, Francis. I guess I was so used to having no family but the people from the orphanage that I just...mistook my feelings for you for something else."

"It probably didn't help that you seem to have had me confused with Keith at the beginning."  Nadja chuckled at that. "That's true enough." Then she sobered. "I'm sorry—so, so sorry, Francis..."

"Don't apologize," Francis said with a slow smile. "Because I think I was suffering from the same problem also. The only women in my life apart from my mother and aunt have been you and Maryann, and since I love the two of you equally but in such different ways, I suppose I just figured that since I loved Maryann...like a...sister....then my love...for you was...the other..." Francis trailed off. He stared blankly into thin air, and suddenly collapsed against the wall behind him.

"Francis?" called Nadja worriedly. "Francis? Are you all right?"

"Nadja," said a very dazed Francis, "I think I love Maryann."

"Of course you do," said Nadja. "You've been friends since you were children, haven't you?"

"Yes, but I always thought I loved her like a sister, but in light of our recent revelation—Nadja, I think I love Maryann. The same way you love Keith!"  Nadja blinked, then smiled. "That's good, though! This is great!"

Francis looked at Nadja wryly. "No, it isn't." When Nadja opened her mouth to ask why on earth he would think that, he was already rambling on. "I mean, we've spent our entire lives together! She's always been there, coming along with me on expeditions for charity, always around me and supporting me, joking with me about the old days—just like a sister! I've blown it. If I'd realized a few years ago, maybe I could have fixed...but I can't..."

Nadja stared blankly at Francis. She _longed_ to tell Francis that his worries were unfounded—but couldn't. It wasn't her place, a part of her mind was whispering, and she had to reluctantly agree that it was right. "Well..." Then she gave a hundred watt grin. "Don't give up!" Francis looked up at her. "You're still sixteen—it's not like either of you is due to be married off at any given time yet! Besides, if she's going to love you, she'll love you for being _you_. So just be yourself—you might be surprised, you know."

A slow smile crossed her new-found brother's face. "Thanks. So, shall we go back to the room, then?"

Nadja's eyes darkened. "No." Francis stared at her vehemence. "I wasn't faking my anger! And I wasn't joking when I said that we're heading to Vienna either!"

Francis stared a little longer, then chuckled. "Shall we head off to Vienna then, my love?"

Laughing at his joke, Nadja replied with a delighted, "Naturally, darling!" and took his arm.

Neither noticed Maryann standing just around the corner of the hallway, having only just left the room where they had previously been. The young woman stood frozen, and for the first time, found herself heavily doubting her instincts. Her eyes narrowed: well then, she'd just put up a fight to get Francis back. Spinning around, Maryann hastened to find Emma: she hadn't intended to accept the offer, let alone have it announced so soon, but if this was the only way she could win Francis back, then she wouldn't hesitate to use her trump card.


	7. And Misunderstandings Go Haywire

**When Masks Fall Off**  **Chapter 5.45: And Misunderstandings Go Haywire**

As it happened, Duke Harcourt caught Francis before he and Nadja could leave. Francis was ordered to attend the party—there was an important announcement to be made, the Duke explained. Francis and Nadja exchanged a blank look, but Nadja decided that a few hours' delay couldn't hurt, and so they decided to stay.

The announcement, the Duke explained, would take place only some time into the party, when most of the guests had arrived. So Nadja and Francis danced together to pass the time. Maybe it had turned out that dancing wasn't the romantic tie that bound them together, but it was still "their thing." The fact remained that they danced incredibly well together, and that they _enjoyed_ dancing together.

The first song they danced in silence; the second they joked quietly together about the way people were looking at them ("Oops, I think that dip just lost you about a hundred potential wives." "Delightful! Why not dance another song, sister dear?" "I would be honored, brother dear!"); the third they tried to conceal their laughter as the disappointment of the girls became complete: dancing with the same partner too many times in a row was a sign of intimacy between the partners, and in this world of nobility and tiles and money, no one would even imagine that they had the wrong sort of intimacy in mind.

After the third song, a rather angry Duke—who had misread his son's relationship with the dancing girl just as everyone else in the room had—called his son to his side, and promptly made his announcement: "Ladies and gentlemen, I am delighted to announce to you the betrothal of my son, Francis, and Maryann Hamilton, daughter to Earl Hamilton!"  Francis looked thrown, to say the least, and Nadja wasn't sure if she wanted to cheer for him or pity him. Why was Maryann doing this? Nadja looked to the woman in question, and saw a single triumphant glance thrown her way by the older woman.

And then the truth struck Nadja like a bolt of lightning. Maryann had misunderstood their relationship, just as had everyone else. This was going to be a hard mess to fix, Nadja noted wryly—particularly without letting the baffled Francis realize what was going on.

Following the announcement, Nadja saw Francis whisper something angrily to his father, and felt her stomach sink. _He thinks they're forcing this on Maryann—but if he protests, Maryann'll take it the wrong way!_ Nadja bit her lip as Duke Harcourt, Emma, Francis and Maryann all retired upstairs. She couldn't very well eavesdrop...but she _could_ wait for them somewhere upstairs, she realized.

She was about to follow them when a voice caught her attention: "Nadja!"  Nadja turned. There was Leonardo—and with a familiar plain, gentle looking young woman on his arm. "Leonardo—Miss Julietta!" Nadja smiled. "What are you doing here?" Her eyes were taking in Leonardo and Julietta's joined arms in bewilderment. Julietta was on Leonardo's arm, and Leonardo wasn't even paying any attention to the girls around the room making eyes at him, so focused was he on Julietta. When had _that_ happened?

Julietta noticed her focus and chuckled. "I know, it's quite surprising that Leonardo would ever notice his bride-to-be, isn't it?"

"Hey!" protested Leonardo amiably while Nadja blushed and Julietta chuckled.

"Would you believe that it took me almost falling for Antonio for Leonardo to realize that I was a woman?" Julietta went on. Nadja had to stifle a laugh at that, though she did manage a surprised, "Antonio?" in a tone that added the unspoken, "Of _all_ the people in the world?"

"Oh yes. It was quite a decision, having to choose between them."

"You offend me, darling," said Leonardo at the same time as Nadja said, wryly, "I know what that feels like."

"Really?" asked Julietta curiously, patting her companion on the arm as though to acknowledge that she had heard him. "Leonardo, would you kindly get us some drinks?" she asked. Leonardo gracefully took his leave, and Julietta turned to Nadja. "Would you mind my asking about that?"

Nadja blinked. Julietta smiled. "I'm not the gossiping type," Julietta explained gently. "I don't like to pry. But you don't look too happy, to be honest. If you want to talk about it..."

Nadja looked up at Julietta and sighed. "Until a few hours ago, I loved two men, and just couldn't figure out which was...for me, really, but one of them made me really angry, and I shouted at him and...and, well, kicked him..." Julietta raised her fan to hide a smile, and Nadja blushed. "But among all that, I realized that I was really, truly in love with him. And at the same time, I realized I loved the other man too, just...as a brother, not like a lover. But now everyone thinks I'm romantically involved with the man who's like my brother, including the woman he loves and probably the man I love, and everything's so messed up..." Nadja buried her head in her hands, and Julietta smiled softly.

"Why don't we go somewhere more private?"

* * *

"I can't marry Maryann!" Francis snapped. "I don't _care_ about our financial status!"

"Our loss of money also means that you can't make any more charity donations," snapped the Duke. "Did you want to marry that dancing girl and forget all about your _noblesse oblige_?"

"That's not—don't bring Nadja into this! I love her, certainly, but not-"

"It's love or _noblesse oblige_. I'm not telling you to marry a stranger: I'm offering the opportunity for you to marry someone you know well, who knows you. It could be far worse!"

"But..." He couldn't bring himself to say that he loved Maryann, and the problem was that she didn't love him back, so he decided to change the topic. "But I promised Nadja I'd take her to the House of Preminger!"

The Duke choked. "_Preminger?_ What would a dancing girl want with the House of _Preminger?_"

"She's been searching for her mother for months," Francis explained. "Recently, we've realized that her mother comes from the House of Preminger—the daughter of the Duke, as it happens, and currently the Countess of Waltmular."

The Duke collapsed into his chair. _Preminger_. If the House of Harcourt could create an alliance with the House of Preminger...let alone a _marriage_ between the families... Why, they'd never have to worry about this sort of thing again!

"What proof do you have of her identity?" interjected Emma. "I read about this girl in the paper—she's in Vienna right now, according to them."

"That girl is a fake," Francis stated. "Nadja's already met the girl, and knows her story; I can present evidence that will turn their story upside down. The fact that Nadja was wearing her brooch the night we met won't factor into the imposter's story."

Emma thought back. "Now you mention it, she was wearing it, wasn't she? It's rather hard to miss, a beautiful article of jewelry like that among those tattered clothes..."

"Very well." The Duke had made his decision. "You may take her to the House of Preminger."

"Thank you, Father!" And Francis had rushed out of the room, and was gone.

"My, the things love can do to people," Emma commented lightly.

"It can cloud a person's eyes, too," Maryann added from the doorway.

"You heard," said the Duke. "I'm sorry, Maryann, but-"

"I understand. A marriage alliance with the House of Preminger would be far more beneficial than one with the House of Hamilton. But you can't be sure that a common girl like that is really telling the truth." She was right, the Duke and Emma thought at once. "So I shall go along with them; don't worry. If it turns out that that girl is, indeed, Nadja Preminger, I'll step aside."

So it was settled. Though no one thought to inform Nadja or Francis of the arrangements, so the pair was rather shocked to find Maryann waiting for them at the docks the following morning.

"Maryann? What are you doing here?" asked Francis.

"Your father and Aunt Emma said that they would be satisfied with this arrangement so long as I went along. I've been to the Preminger Manor a number of times for parties. You never went, Francis, did you?"

"N- no," Francis replied.

"I'll help you as well, Nadja," smiled Maryann. Assuming that she had heard of the situation from Francis, Nadja thanked her, but somehow wished that things were simpler. She couldn't tell Francis that Maryann loved him, or Maryann that Francis loved her: to do either would betray one of the pair, and it was best if they figured things out on their own anyway.  But that wasn't going to be easy when she was caught in the middle. What to do?  As it turned out, there _wasn't_ much she could do. Even half way through their ship ride across the English Channel, Maryann remained smiling and kind, and Nadja found nothing amiss with her presence.

"The newspaper article said that the Black Rose stole the brooch from Nadja." Maryann's comment had the desired effect: Francis's mind was suddenly racing a mile a minute. _Was_ that _what Keith did to get himself hurt and make Nadja that angry?_ "So I don't think that will be nearly enough to prove your identity. Do you have anything else that could prove your identity?"

"Yes," Nadja admitted, leading Maryann across the cabin to her little suitcase. "My mother's diary and music box, and her dress, though it looks different now." As Nadja moved the dress aside to reveal the diary and music box, Maryann caught sight of the kaleidoscope, placed carefully between the diary and music box.

"My...a kaleidoscope," commented Maryann. Nadja stared at her. Hadn't they already been over this? "I remember this—it's Keith's, is it not?" As Nadja replied with the affirmative, she looked at Maryann questioningly. What was she trying to do? "Really? So Keith gave it to you? I can't believe that Keith would give his only remaining piece of his mother to anyone. He never even let me touch it when I begged him when we were children, you know. Right, Francis?"

"Yeah," Francis replied shortly, rather preoccupied with his attempts to figure out what Maryann meant by all this interrogation. Keith was coming up alarmingly often. Almost as if...but no, that couldn't be.

"I- I see," Nadja replied. Now she was _really_ weirded out. They had definitely been over this before...

"You're certainly taking good care of it," Maryann commented. A pause, and then, "Wasn't Keith a bother?"

"Pardon?" Nadja couldn't believe her ears.

"Keith's always been nothing but a bother. Hasn't he been bothering you?"

"What are you-"

"Ever since we were children he's been that way, never thinking of how his actions affect others. He's selfish, always complaining, with a heart cold as ice-"

"No he's not!" Nadja finally snapped. Francis looked around at her. _Well, that was a quick recovery from that angry display last night. But why did Maryann..._ "Sure, he's a little forceful, and he can be picky and rough, but Keith is a kind person at heart! Keith was always helping people who needed help. He helped me, too—you have no idea how grateful I am for that!"

Maryann could have commented that that seemed to contradict the anger from the previous night. But she didn't. "I see. Keith helped you, did he? I'm sorry. It's never pleasant to hear a person you care about insulted. My apologies, Nadja."

"No problem..." replied a very, very confused Nadja. Francis left the room quietly: he was finally understanding what Maryann was trying to do. All the insults directed at Keith, all the references to Keith...

Maryann was in love with Keith, Francis realized. And she was trying to turn Nadja away from him. _Just my luck..._ Francis thought to himself with a sigh, leaning on the railing.

The web of confusion was finalized not three hours later on the train from France to Austria, when Francis announced to Maryann that he sincerely loved Nadja, Maryann announced to Nadja that she was never going to give up Francis, and Nadja finally realized what was going on and developed a splitting headache.


	8. Coming to an End

**When Masks Fall Off**  **Chapter 6.50: Coming to an End**

The next few days were a blur. Nadja had almost succeeded at convincing the Duke that she was the real Nadja when Francis was arrested under charges of being the Black Rose—charges to which he pleaded guilty for some reason that Nadja couldn't fathom—and Nadja was arrested as well, until Rosemary ordered her release, apparently purely for the sake of mocking Nadja. Nadja proceeded to overcome her obstacles to meeting her mother—primarily her uncle and grandfather—and meanwhile, unbeknownst to Nadja, Keith and Francis defeated their own demons together by means of an argument ("I'm the one who's supposed to be locked up in here; you get out of here!" "No! Both Nadja and Maryann are in love with you—you've got to be out there for their sakes." "...I'll tackle the simpler of the two first, and ask you, why Nadja?" "Because she explicitly told me so when we agreed that we love each other, but only as sister and brother." "...Right, then. Now, on to the other one...what the _hell_ gave you the idea that Maryann was in love with _me?_" "You didn't see her on the way here, insulting you just to get Nadja to stop liking you." "Are you sure? Maryann's usually more tactful than that. I'll bet your imagination just ran away with you."), also aided by Nadja's singing voice ("For now, we'll fight together for Nadja's sake, since we _do_ seem to agree that we both love her.").

Keith proved Francis's innocence by enacting a very public Black Rose heist, and in doing so, ending the Black Rose for good with a heartening speech for the poor, moneyless individuals that relied on him like he was a god. Francis claimed that he had misspoken: that he had meant to state that he had disguised himself as the Black Rose to steal the brooch back from Herman at the House of Corlade, and was not, in fact, the Black Rose. The fact, as the police saw it, remained that Francis Harcourt had trespassed on and stolen property of the House of Corlade, but this, too, was cleared up relatively quickly when Oscar Corlade made it known that, the brooch having been Nadja's to begin with, he did not hold the trespassing against the Harcourt heir, and requested his release.  Nadja did not see the Harcourt twins until her second night at her mother's home. After bidding her mother good night, she entered her room only to find the balcony door open, and the curtains billowing in the wind.

"Is someone there?" she called, approaching the window.

Beyond the billowing curtain, she saw a shadow. Dark Blonde hair, blue eyes, black clothing...and a certain sparkle in those deep blue eyes. "Keith," Nadja breathed, walking out onto the balcony. Something warm was filling her chest and stomach. "Keith."

"Nadja," called a famliar voice. Nadja looked to the tree that stood beside the balcony.

"Francis," Nadja gasped, a grin spreading across her face. Francis jumped gracefully from the tree to the balcony.

"We wanted to tell you what we'll be doing from now on, Nadja," Francis explained. "We've always wanted people to be able to live equally, and so I dedicated myself to _noblesse oblige_, and Keith wore the mask of the Black Rose."

"The Black Rose is gone, Nadja," Keith told her. "Forever." Nadja looked at him in surprise; he was smiling in such a way that Nadja thought he knew that he'd never regret his decision. It was like a weight off her chest, knowing that she wouldn't have to worry for his life every other night anymore. "We think that from now on, we'll have to find a new way to fight for peoples' equality. The two of us plan on finding that way—together."  Nadja smiled widely. "You two can do anything if you work together."

"Nadja," Keith addressed her. "I didn't want you to become a noble. But I think you'll be fine after all—you'll be able to do what you want, even as a member of the Preminger family, through sheer determination." It was nice to hear, but...something in Nadja was disappointed that he'd changed his mind for her. Part of her wished that he'd offer to whisk her away again, like her Star-Eyed Knight that he had been when they first met. "Not like my mother."

Something hurt in Nadja with that last part. "Keith..." Keith looked at her. "I wanted to tell you something: I don't think your mother was miserable at all. I think the mother that you saw when you were little was really, truly sad. But she wasn't sad all the time, right? I have times when I think I should just give up, and times when I feel so sad I'm ready to cry, too. But I always feel better after a while; and then I dance, and I feel even happier. When I was traveling, I learned lots of things from lots of people: I learned that there are lots of faces to fate, and a lot of shapes of happiness, too. So I think your mother was happy, Keith. She raised the two of you wonderfully, didn't she? Try and remember her, Keith: remember your mother's smile!"

Francis was smiling; then Keith began to laugh. Nadja stared, and Francis looked at him in surprise. Francis hadn't seen Keith laugh like that, or even smile that much, since their mother had died.

"Sorry," Keith apologized. "You're always dedicated, aren't you Nadja? Thank you, Nadja."

"Me too, Nadja: thank you." Francis was smiling.

"Then me too," Nadja smiled. "Thank you, both of you."

And they laughed. The remainder of the twins' visit was no less nonsensical: they reminisced of the days when Nadja had been under the impressions that there was only one of them, and Francis and Nadja recounted for Keith how they had formed their friendship, and Nadja and Keith recounted for Francis how they had formed their argumentative relationship ("He dragged me into an _alley_." "Is that all you were mad at? I'm surprised. I've done that more than once." "Well, the name calling didn't work in your favor either." "Tell me, are we talking about the 'skinny little girl' bit, the 'my dear' bit, or the 'my little rosebud' bit?" "Keith, it's a wonder you two manage to get along at all, the way you tease her.").

All too soon, Keith and Francis climbed back down the tree and departed. Nadja waved to them, closed and locked the balcony doors, closed the drapes, changed into her night clothes, and retired to bed. All the while, she felt something empty and conspicuously hollow in the pit of her stomach. Keith and Francis had treated her no differently tonight. Did that mean that Keith had realized that he, too, loved her only as a sister? Or that he didn't love her at all? He had scarcely replied to her thoughts on his mother, and all his teasing had been in terms of the past: he hadn't picked on her nearly as much as he usually did.

Nadja recalled the way she had yelled at him, kicked him where she knew there were still-healing wounds, and was overall quite a bit more insensitive than she should have been.  She pulled the covers up over her head as tears began to overflow from her eyes and she couldn't do a thing to stop them. She missed the sound of the balcony door unlatching itself and opening again, but she did notice the footsteps that approached her bed. Throwing the covers from her head, she shot up...and stared at Keith, who was standing over her. Keith, for his part, looked down at Nadja in surprise.

And then she was in Keith's arms, which was quite awkward considering the fact that he was standing and she was sitting, and their hight difference was no small matter even when they were both standing. Yet it was comforting—his mere presence had some sort of calming effect on her now, just as much as it had had the effect of making her quite nervous earlier on the balcony with Francis. No doubt the awkward position was not very comfortable for Keith, for he seated himself on her bed and pulled her into his lap. He didn't ask her what was wrong—judging by the fact that he had come back, she guessed that he had felt the same discomfort and loneliness that she had at his departure without bothering to address their relationship. The tears that leaked from her eyes this time were tears of relief, and he sat there quietly, just holding her until she had calmed.

"Can I ask you something?" Keith asked suddenly, and Nadja felt his arm around her waist tighten nervously. Nadja looked up. "Francis and I had another argument recently—don't worry, we sorted it out—and he mentioned that you and he had..."

"Agreed that we do love each other, but more like a brother and sister than anything?" Nadja smiled. Keith only tensed more, and Nadja knew what he wanted to know. "I love you—romantically, though, and I'm not too sure if you meant yours romantically or not anymore, because so much's happened and I'm kind of confused since Francis was horribly confused, and so was Maryann and she thought that Francis and I loved each other romantically, but Maryann and Francis actually love each other that way, only Francis thought that Maryann was in love with you romantically, and if that can get that messed up, then I realized that I might have misunderstood-"

Nadja was vaguely surprised when he didn't cut her off with a kiss this time. Instead, he pulled her to his chest, whispered "I love you too" in her ear, and placed a chaste kiss at the corner of her mouth just in case she still doubted his meaning. Nadja relaxed against him, murmuring, "Oh, good."

Then she realized how she was dressed, and her face turned red. She attempted to scamble from his grip with an embarrassed yelp, but Keith pulled Nadja back to his chest with a chuckle. "If I can wait for you to make up your mind for over half a year, then you can handle me holding you for a little longer."

"I'm in my _night clothes_," Nadja protested weakly.

"Indeed," Keith replied in a tone that clearly stated that he really could care less.

"And haven't we had the discussion about sneaking into a lady's bedroom?"

"Would you have preferred me to throw pebbles at your window and recite poetry?" asked Keith dryly, "Because if you would, then you chose the wrong twin."

Nadja almost laughed. "No, I just wish you could find some other way to talk to me when I'm sleeping."

Keith snorted. "I'm going to marry you someday.

Nadja stared, not quite processing how casually he stated something that was of such enormity to her. "Once we're married, any other way of waking you will just be a hassle. So why not start getting used to being woken up by me in person now?"

Nadja blushed. "For one thing, I doubt married couples wake each other by standing there towering over each other. For another, we're not married now, nor are we engaged, _nor_ are we likely to be in the near future."

"Says who?" Keith's eyes were dancing in that way that made it clear that he was teasing. Nadja tore out of the circle of his arms anyway, spinning to face him.

"I'm _thirteen_."

Keith laughed. "I'm teasing, Nadja."

She relaxed some at that. "Sorry."

Keith pulled the girl back into his arms. "I'm going to leave for a while—you probably won't see me for about half a year." And Nadja had left his embrace again, and was whirling around to face him.

"_Leave!?_" she demanded, sounding panicked. "What do you mean, _leave?_ How can you-"

"Shh, shh," Keith soothed her. "It's not that bad. I just have to go into hiding for a while—I'll be returning to Harcourt Manor, but I've got to wait a while. I can't reappear at the same time that the Black Rose disappears: someone could make that connection, and just because the Black Rose won't steal anymore doesn't mean that people won't want to capture him for things he's stolen in the past."

"And you won't even be able to visit me?"

"Nadja..." Keith ran a hand through her hair, as if begging her to come back. Nadja did not budge. "I can't. Even a gardener or maid seeing me sneaking into your room could be a fatal mistake."

"I won't be here," Nadja replied, looking him straight in the eye.

"Pardon?" Keith stared.

"I haven't told anyone, but the way Grandfather was acting, locking me in a room and everything...I have the feeling he's going to use the party tomorrow to force me to take over the Preminger family after him."

Keith's eyes darkened. "And you're just going to take that lying down? Chances are he'll send you to one of those horribly strict boarding schools. My father sent me to one, you know—I can't imagine a place I could ever hate more than that school."  Nadja smiled. "Of course not. I'm going to return to Troupe Dandelion."

Keith stared. Then he smiled slowly. "And you'll just visit your mother whenever you feel like it."

"Exactly," Nadja smiled back. Then she sobered. "Will you still not be able to visit me?"

Keith sighed. "No, Nadja. When I say I'm going to go into hiding, I mean it. I don't want to be seen by anyone."

Nadja sighed back. "Oh."

"I'll stay the night if you want." Nadja stared at Keith as if he had grown a bright red nose and antlers. Keith laughed. "I don't mean anything indecent. I'll just sit by you while you sleep."

"I think you crossed into the realms of 'indecent' when you broke into my room," Nadja stated wryly, but climbed into the bed and clambered under the covers anyway. When Keith didn't move from his position and just sat there looking down at her tenderly, Nadja hesitantly suggested, "You know, I'm sure you lying down on top of the covers wouldn't make it indecent."

Keith laughed. "And here I thought you'd decided that things were already indecent enough as they were." Nadja scowled.

"I 'm just suggesting a way that you can get some sleep too."

Keith smiled down at her. "Thank you." As he lay down beside Nadja, she reached out on top of the covers to take his hand.

"Don't try and leave before I wake up," she told him, eyes glinting dangerously: a strange contrast with her cheeks puffed up and lips pouting in annoyance.

Keith faltered. "Nadja, if I'm found in here-"

"No servants are going to come in here."

"But-"

"Last time you went off without a word, you came back bloody and pretending to be fine. Did you know I was locked up with Rosso and Bianco in the very same cell you were locked up in? And that they described to me in _vivid detail_ exactly what happened to you when you tried to get back my brooch?"

"Nadja-"

"Please don't make me worry like that for half a year?" Nadja pleaded, squeezing his hand, and Keith was defeated. He turned his hand in hers to return her grip.

"I promise I'll still be here when you wake up," Keith smiled. "Now sleep." And she did.

* * *

It was probably very fortunate for both of them that Keith chose to sit up against the headboard when he awoke the next morning, because shortly after he did, a woman entered the room saying, "Nadja, it's time to wake..." She trailed off then, staring blankly at the black-clad young man sitting beside the sleeping girl.

"Countess Waltmular," the young man said politely, bowing his head. "Forgive me for not standing to greet you, but your daughter has my hand in a vice grip."

Indeed, at some point during the night, Nadja had added her other hand to the first, and she was gripping Keith's hand tightly enough that he would have had to wake her to leave even if he had decided not to wait for her to wake.

"And you are?" inquired the countess politely, smiling rather kindly considering the fact that she had just found a strange man in her daughter's bed.

"Keith Harcourt," Keith replied after only a brief moment of hesitation.

"Ah yes," the countess smiled. "My future son-in-law, I presume. Nadja told me about you."

"Oh," replied Keith, at a loss for anything else to say. He was saved, however, by Nadja stirring and sitting up just then.

"Good morning, mom," she remarked sleepily as she sat up, releasing her second hand from Keith's. But once she had sat up, she blinked and looked down at the hand that still held Keith's in a death grip. She looked up at Keith then, who was watching her patiently, just waiting for the imminent explosion. She looked back down at their entwined fingers one more time before all hell broke loose.

Nadja snatched her hand from his and leapt out of bed like a snake had just bitten her, face red as a tomato. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Waiting for you to wake up," Keith replied calmly.

"You were on my _bed!_"

"Indeed. I still am, I believe."

"_Why?_"

"Because you didn't want to have to worry for another six months."

"Why-" Then she seemed to wake up fully, and drooped somewhat. "Oh. You're leaving."

Keith sighed and stood. "It was nice to meet you, Countess Waltmular," he said as politely as if the situation was not incredibly awkward, bowing and placing a kiss on the back of her hand like any proper gentleman.

"Likewise," Colette smiled just as casually as if this man had not just been sleeping in the same bed as her daughter. Keith smiled charmingly once more at her, then turned his attention to the drooping, groggy girl who was now sitting on her bed.

"I'll miss you," said Nadja with a slightly forced smile, wrapping her arms around Keith when he pulled her up and into his arms.  "Don't," he said gently. "I won't ever be far. And I won't do anything too dangerous—I promise."

Then he was gone through the balcony.

"He's certainly charming," Colette smiled.

"And impulsive, and annoying, and with a tendency toward danger..." Nadja grumbled, but did so with a giddy smile on her face: he had apparently taken the kaleidoscope from her bag at some point last night, because as he had embraced her, he had pressed it into her hand. A reminder, Nadja knew, of what he stood for and that he would always be there when she really, truly needed him.

"Now, about that party this evening..." Colette could not stop smiling any more than her daughter could.

It was at said party, as it happened, that Nadja understood what Keith had meant by, "I won't ever be far" when an individual on a terace overlooking the ballroom had thrown a vase at a bodyguard attempting to grab her and force her to stay to become the Preminger heir.

_I really never should have worried,_ Nadja thought wryly.

And so it was with an elated heart that she leapt out the doors of the House of Preminger with a light goodbye to her mother to become the dancing girl that she loved to be.


	9. Epilogue

**When Masks Fall Off**  **Epilogue**

"Ahem," Francis cleared his throat from the doorway. Maryann looked up from putting the final pins into her hair and noted his presence with surprise.

"Francis. What brings you here?"

"Well, you know that talk that Father brought up about us being married?"

Maryann sighed. "Francis..."

"No, just hear me out. I want you to know that Father talked Keith into convincing Duke Preminger that since he's the Duke's future son-in-law he deserves a little help when in jeopardy, and the House of Preminger agreed to aid the House of Harcourt. So we don't need the aid of the House of Hamilton anymore." Actually, that was a condensed fact. The actual sequence of events had been their Father ordering Keith to talk to the Duke, Keith refusing, a loud fight ensuing, Francis talking to Nadja and explaining his ulterior motive in wanting Duke Preminger to help out the House of Harcourt, and _Nadja_ explaining the situation to Keith and taking him with her to argue with her grandfather.

"Francis," Maryann said, standing quite suddenly—and giving Francis quite a start. Maryann was usually demure, graceful in her every endeavor. "Francis," Maryann said again, and her voice was hard; harder than Francis had ever heard it. "I've already made it clear that that offer no longer stands."

Francis gulped nervously. He had to go on, but at this rate, he had the feeling his courage would fail him before he ever got around to making his point. "Well, we've known each other a long time, you know, and I-"

"Francis," Maryann said gently, "if you think that I'm not going to be your friend anymore just because of that silly engagement of convenience-"

"No, no, no, that isn't it either-"

"You're acting strange," Maryann pointed out, approaching Francis worriedly. "Are you feeling all right?" She touched his forehead to check for a fever; Fancis forgot everything he'd been about to say. He was nervous enough as it was, but her proximity was turning 'nervous' to 'anxious' to just plain 'madly in love.'

So Francis did the only thing he could think of and caught Maryann by the hips, pulled her to him, and kissed her. He tensed in response when she began to tense, but then she relaxed and put her arms about his shoulders, and he had never been happier.  When he pulled away, Maryann's cheeks were flushed and she was breathing heavily. Maryann, always calm and composed since they had been young children, now had had that composure cracked: and all because of one kiss from him. The thought sent a surge of something hot through Francis's chest, and he pulled her back for another kiss.

"Maryann," he started quietly as he pulled away, "Will you marry me?" Maryann's eyes went wide: another expression he'd never seen on her, Francis realized. "Not because of our Houses this time, but because I love you and want to spend the rest of my life beside you."

Tears came to Maryann's eyes, and she covered her mouth with one hand, turning away from him as she did so. "Maryann?" called Francis, alarmed. Maryann had always been one to support others; never one to break down in front of others, and even as a child, Francis could only remember one occasion on which he had ever seen her cry. When he had fallen from a tree and scratched his knee, she had soothed him and helped him up and back to the house; when he had been sobbing for the death of his pet dog, Maryann had sat beside him with comforting words of the dog's happiness in Heaven.

Now she was crying, and just because he had asked her to marry him.

"Yes," Maryann choked out. Francis almost couldn't believe his ears. "Oh, Francis, I thought you didn't... That you'd never..."  Francis understood. So he gathered her into his arms and kissed her again.


End file.
